to: home

this is probably going to be the last of it for a while. 4 cities, 5 airports in less than 48 hours. i spent the last morning in moscow wondering around. it was cold, and it being like 9am on a saturday quite quiet. did you know that moscow airports do not post boarding time on their boarding passes? well, rather, boarding stops 20 min before the plane takes off. so the time boarding stops is posted on the boarding pass, just not when it begins. just imagine the confusion, of standing in front of the gate, waiting...? apparently, boarding times are announced over the intercom, the entire airport is just a slew of announcements, calling this and that flight, changes to gates, drunken lost passengers, requested, called, strongly advised to go to their gate. the sandwich lady on the plane, after giving up on feeding me salami sandwiches, tries to flag down the flight attending to get me a blanket because she thinks i'm cold. then, she tries to 'order' my drink for me, then, after we land, she tries to give away my jacket stowed above my seat to the little girl in the seat in front--she thought it was a children's jacket. the next day, my cousin and i go city walking. first, we are stopped by the cops to give a deposition. apparently, they were called to the scene of a burning vehicle. when the cops arrived, the vehicle did not appear to be burning, or on fire, or have been burning. so we are flagged on the street to provide a statement that the police did in fact respond to the call, and that the vehicle did not appear to be engulfed in flames or in any way damaged. annoying as it is, made better by three policemen clearly flirting as they're writing the deposition. we retrace anthony's steps, accidentally, but decide to stop by Bessarabka, the central (and most expensive) farmer's market in the center, we are committed. there, we are accosted by salespeople, and Caucasian (that's, again, from the mountains, not just white) men offering fresh fruit. when we do not respond to their sweet talk, they switch to ukrainian, as if we didnt understand the first time. hot dog in a fried bun (kinda like a oversized, over-doughed corn dog) for my cousin and we are off to crafts street. the cabby that took us home was smoking in the car when we got in. the car reeked like cheap cigarettes. and after airing out the smoke, all windows down in the middle of winter, i sort of regretted doing that, for as the smoke cleared, what was left was the terrifying cabby BO smell. i swear, the smoke was better. do you know how much 61 surveys weigh? 3 kilos, exactly how much i was over the limit when i got to the airport the next morning. shit, a moment of panic and i am now stuck logging extra weight in my carry on. i look homeless. we end up waiting in the boarding bus for like 15 min, and it turns out they literally drove us 20 feet. so could have walked. during this time some dude decides to start a conversation. where am i going, what am i going to do there? oh you're going home?? to the states? i've never talked to anyone from the states! well, this is your lucky day, buddy. then, he wants us to 'communicate', on facebook, contacts, my space. i'm not even listening to the slew of sites he's listing. thank god, he's sitting nowhere near me. short layover in zurich, where, with my super short connection, i almost kill some british dude, who decides to take the time to drink his water while passing through the xray conveyor belt, take his time to, one by one, empty his pockets of cell phone, cigarettes, passport, no wait, i can keep that. i almost jumped the line, had it not been for the fact that his stuff was already in the boxes, and the lady border patrol was so politely swiss, i would have felt embarrassed. and the best thing to do on the transatlantic flight, when you're not sleepy? catch up on movies. the lady next to me, i'm pretty sure judges me after my second wine. but that's ok, i judge her for praying before eating her airplane food, which, by the way is pretty good, and so so plentiful. the swiss are trying to make me fat. finally, home, super long line to passport control, and i'm eavesdropping on conversations, excited to finally hear english. it appears my quadruple security alert went away because i am let through without much trouble (i correctly answer where i work. are you bringing any food, alcohol, or tobacco? no (except for the ocntraband of vodka in my luggage). my mom volunteered to pick me up, but forgot where she parked. or actually, she remembers where she parked, she just doesnt remember how to get to the car. so literally, for like 15 minutes we walk around in a circle, me with giant carry on and giant suitcase, looking for a way to get to the parking lot. seriously, mother?! finally, home. i am unpacked, refrigerator cleaned, grocery shopping done. and off to bed, my bed. i guess it's back to reality.

Aimlessness

I'm sitting in a cafe, staring at a couple, likely on a date (unlikely couple, though). There is a sign on the door that reads "stuff only", no stuff is not allowed, apparently...I think they mean staff. Clinic was weird. First, a lady shows up wanting a survey. Are you here for a doctor visit? No. I'm sorry I'm afraid I cannot let you fill one out. She starts crying, she came here just to fill out the survey. Then she sits down and for the next hour proceeds to tell me her story. She has a really bad knee, it hurts all the the time. She had a stroke, finally recovered but had to go back to Kyrgyzstan becaus she couldn't afford to pay. She cleans a pharmacy, every morning and evening. She is supposed to get paid 5000rubles, but it's been 5 months, and since her knee hurts and she has no money, she takes meds from the pharmacy and they credit her, so now she is only supposed to get paid 1700rubles, but it's been 5 months. She lives with her son and his wife who is a bitch! Wo refuses to work. And all she does is go from doctor to doctor with her knee. She cries all the time. She asks me to look at her knee. Bt I'm not a knee doctor. But it hurts, so she rolls up her pants. I feel her swollen arthritic knee, it's pretty bad. Then, she tells me that she feels better, just after talking it out. She asks me if I can come for tea. No thanks. After the patient focus group, everyone wants to know where they can come see me. I don't work in this clinic. CAn we call you? Are you really going to call America?! Apparently, I have a patient base. Then, I wander the clinic talking to providers. The gyne lady, ethnically Russian, is seemingly angry. She complains of language barrier with her patients who speak poor Russian. I guess your Kyrgyz is not totally proficient, I joke. She doesn't get it and launches into a rant about how she does NOT speak kyrgyz or Tajik or Uzbek. I feel bad, do I sound like that when I say I don't speak Spanish?! Then, I talk to the surgeon. He can do small procedures, like what? I&d, everything else we "treat conservatively". Now i feel like a poser. Here I am some American asshole with nebulous research plans about HIV prevention, when physicians, my colleagues, cannot treat their patients because they lack basic tools. This guy, who is a surgeon and cuts people for a living, has to treat them conservatively because he doesn't have an OR or anesthesiologist. I'm ready to leave. I decide to go walk around the city. Except this is probably the worst day, as it is raining. After I have a tiny little orgasm in the lingerie store, I was outside to find a little old man, dressed in a winter coat and pajamas, begging for money. He looks completely put together, not crazy or homeless, just bent over from age-kyphosis, on the main street filled with designer stores. I feel terrible, and not just because it's raining on me. On to red square. To warm up, I walk into GUM- the biggest and most famous shopping center from soviet time, now filled with ferragamo and cavalli boutiques. I have been awake since 6, I havent eaten, drunk, or peed today. My hugely American north face is wet and I'm wearing dansko's--I look positively homeless. I do not fit in among the trendiness, I'm surprised I don't get arrested. Wndering aimlessly through the streets and cursing the wind that keeps flipping my umbrella over, I think I'm ready t go home. It's sad that I didn't get to hang out in Moscow at all. Seems like I've done nothing at all.

Technical difficulties

Yesterday was a complete nightmare. It all started when two women showed up together to fill out surveys. How old are you? 48. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I cannot let you fill out the survey because you are older than 45. I am 45. ...so how old ARE you? I don't know I was born 1967, how old am I? ...?! You tel me?! I am 44. ... You sure!? Yes. Yeah?yes. Fine. The two of them get surveys. We encounter difficulties with the first question which asks what year were you born. Looking at the page, I see some combination of letter and numbers none of which resemble dates, in any numerical system known to me. Somehow they get through that one, next they stall. Eh, we can't see the text, can you read it to us? No, I'm not going to read 18 pages of confidential individual survey! seriously?! At this time, about 4 more women show up. We're here to take surveys. Well, you see I just ran out of surveys, so I will need to print out more first. Ok we need surveys. Yes, I understand, but you will have to wait a second for me to run and try to print more out. Ok we need surveys, and pens. I currently do no have either, so just wait a second. At this point there are about 10 women in the room, some filling out surveys, those without surveys are now joining the ones it's surveys and separate sheets, each taking a sheet to "fill out". No no this is not a synchronized event, please, one survey per person. This all is complicated by Kyrgyz rap blasting from the room next door, this is no longer a research space, this is a zoo.  I ran back and forth between the room and the (locked!) administrator's office trying to print more surveys, but the computer printer whatever is not printing. I run back, we need surveys. Yes, I understand, but I physically cannot create them, nor make printer print, I'm sorry you can wait if you would like. I convince them to wait outside. At this point, the lady on the left, who is about half way done with the survey decides that she, too, is having trouble seeing, so she recruits another lady who is done to read for her. Umm.. Please don't help her. But she can't see! I understand but I doubt she is going to truthfully answer questions about her last anal intercourse with you reading to her. The ladies on the other side of the room decide to share answers. Please, don't share answers, we're not sharing answers, we're discussing questions. Yes, thereby, sharing answers, this is not a group activity, these are individual surveys. The two original blind ladies keep looking up and shaking their heads, the font is really small. Yes, I am aware, but you shouldn't agree to fill out surveys, if you know you have issues seeing things without your reading glasses! Damnit! Similarly, the point of the survey is answering questions, that's what a survey is. So don t take a survey and then ask me if you need to answer these questions, yes you do. Also, don't agree to participate in the survey, take a stack (that's 8 pages) fill out the first one and look at me: is this all? No you have to fill out all pages, yes you have to answer all questions, unless of course you are uncomfortable, or don't want to share), yes you have to answer all questions, not just the first one on the page. Yes, I know the font is small, and sme questions are about sexual health, so don't look at me like I'm crazy, yes, I know what it says.  Men show up to "visit". The friendly neighborhood barber decided that he was going to continue wandering in and out, his phone blasting bad rap as he pleases to check on "our progress". The groundskeeper does the same, he intermittently comes in to ask me if I'm cold, look out the window, asks he when about their surveys. I swear this man thinks I'm 12.Every morning he asks me if I'm here to do more surveys. Have I dine anything else in this clinic, in the last 5 days?! Husbands come in to look at the survey "for their wives" no no this is for women, not men, send your wife in and I'll talk to her. Chauvinistic jerk! Since today was my last day, everyone kept asking me when i was coming back. Springtime? Umm..not sure. I now have open invitations to kyrgyzstan, t visit Isik-kuel, to see the mountains. The reception girl asked me how old I was, she thought 20. Then she asked me if I was married. No. When are yo going to get married? Umm...awkward question. After the day of talking and sitting, I have the most ridiculous dehydrated headache and ready to leave.

The Asians are coming!!

The entire population of china is moving into my hotel. Every morning, one excited tour group at a time, little by little, they are all moving here. Every morning, I fight my way through the clusterfuck of Asians. They flood the lobby, perusing the free Internet, waiting to turn in their passport into the group passport collector, they bring their own gallons of drinking water. They are everywhere. This morning, before going to work, I go to print more surveys. A guy who knows a guy who knows a guy (a friend of one of the project workers, who helped me find sex workers, here in Moscow. Funny thing, his phone number is the same as the project coworkers, which I have saved in my phone from like 3years ago) promises to print it for free in his office. He called me yesterday and spent a very long time elaborately explaining where he is, that I got annoyed and agreed to meet him at 10. Turns out I was going to the wrong train station, as he called and told me he was already there, not where I was going. I was late, but he was super nice about it, and so ice in general, I immediately was not mad at him for sending me to the wrong place. from the subway station, we walk to the office "10 min". The problem is, much like the Asians, the rains have descended onto Moscow. And Moscow pavement is not level, so the streets turn into rivers and lakes and seas, which I am having a hard time jumping over. I'm following the dude, who turns around every 2 min to make sure I'm still there. I realize I am following a stranger, a man I've never met before in unknown direction. Under any other circumstances this would be considered unsafe. The man, Senil, is Pamiri, like my coworker. Pamir is a mountain region in the east of Tajikistan. It borders Afghanistan and a little china. This where the Khiber pass hides the Taliban fighters, this is where democratic resistance hid during the afghan soviet war. Pamiris are slightly different from the rest of Tajikistan. Their language, although Still part of the Persian language family, is more similar to Pashtu, a dialect of afghani. They are Ismaili Muslims, more closely related to Shiite than the rest of Sunni Tajiks. They value higher education for both sons and daughters. They are less religiously conservative (meaning, they do not take their daughters out of school after 4th grade). Senil sells sim cards for beeline (a mobile company in russia, Ukraine, Tajikistan,...and oh yeah, now Laos), he calls himself a dealer. He is being super nice, when I use up all his paper, he runs out to get more. He offers me coffee, he gives me a stylish beeline bag to carry my crap. Then, he pays for my ride it's his limitless subway pass. At work, it's a bit of a lull. I don't get too much done. I eat lunch with the director, his wife, and the technical dude. This apparently happens daily and I will need to come up with a new strategy as people as getting suspicious of my daily 'lunch' of tea. Sadly, my quick glance at the menu revealed multiple meaty products, some think I'm out of luck. People keep coming into my 'office' wondering what the hell I'm doing there. I get driven home, in time to watch the elections.

Fist day of work, yet again

First day of Moscow researching. No one answered my calls, so I show up to clinic. This clinic is located in some backyard building, on the fourth floor. There is an American clinic on the first floor, for this you have to climb the stairs, the emergency exit stairs. The clinic is for migrants, run by migrants. It is a conglomeration of various medical offices: dentist, gynecologist, urologist, there is a barber, and a few other small 'organizations' aimed at working with migrants. Because of this, people just sort of show up and mingle and do their business and visit doctor, and hang out. There is a reception, this is where you stop by to get your medical history, and pay. The director sits in the same office as the technical administrator, his wife, also the HR and accountant of the clinic, sits next door, in an office behind the pharmacy. There are pictures of Kyrgyz life in the wall. There is a cafhere here both staff and patients and whoever else eat. The clinic is mainly Kyrgyz, but other migrants come here as well, there is no discrimination and prices are much better than local clinics, so various people come here for medical care. I sit in a room next to some agency helping acquire work permits for migrants. Through  my open door., I see a constant line of men wondering in and out. Music is blasting all day long. My life is now filled with Kyrgyz rap, intermittently sprinkled with gangnam style.  There is no concept of consent or recruitment or confidentiality. Women who come by to fill out the survey keep asking why I don't want them to put their last name on the surveys. They are confused why I keep reciting the same spiel of who I am and what I am doing this for. Random people are showing up wanting to fill out the survey. I'm sorry I can't give this to you because you work here, I don't care that sometimes you get your lab tests done here, no you cannot have it, you're a doctor here, the survey is for patients. Surveys themselves raise questions. Some of them are language barrier questions, since the survey is in Russian--those I can usually just answer by rewording the question or giving examples. And apparently, me explaining the question means you are no longer required to  answer it on the piece of paper. Some are harder to explain: "oral sex? It's when a man..(shocked look in return)...nevermind, if you don't know what it is you probably don't do it..." "what does it mean, how many lifetime partners!? (offended look) there was no one ever, i mean, just my husband." "well, that usually means one, then..." and please don't look at me like I'm crazy. Back to the hotel, i people watch while fighting the craptastic internetting. Sme dude decides to be friends. Where are you from? The states. You're ot from Russia!? Nope. Where in the states? Chicago. Oh wow, I love Chicago! Me too. Yu look 18! im a little older than 18...Then, he launches into a soliloquy about how hot Russian women are. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to agree ot be offended. Up to the room, the security guard checks my key before letting me to the elevator. This is done to prevent unsolicited sex workers soliciting unsolicited customers. There are people hanging out by the elevator: apparently it's broken, all four of them. I ask the guard if there are emergency stairs. No. What if there is a fire? He does not seem to think I'm funny. The thing is, he keeps checking peopple's keys and letting them through, knowing that they're not going anywhere, not mentioning anything. Have you informed anyone that the elevator is broken? You (thats me) can talk to the front desk. I stop by the front desk, and the lady immediately promises to call for ehlp, and in the meantime, I can't just go ahead and take the other elevator. The other elevator!? Oh, apparently, there is a whole other set of elevators. Great. 

Ukraine abridged and Moscow welcome

Here is a quick overview of things I did in ukraine. Ate, lacked sleep, drank, ate a lot of mushrooms, did not die of mushroom poisoning. Went sight-seeing, froze my ass off. Can't feel my toes. Are we there yet, are we there yet? Go left, oh wait, you can't. Please stop feeding me, yes you should buy that. Yu look so much older...yes I am a bit taller. Watched procedures, eavesdropped, patient care, let me hand you this instrument. Do you want more ethanol? Let me tie you, let me tie you. Tie one leg, tie another leg. Move your butt closer to the end of the table. Mechanical suction on, mechanical suction off. Umm...is that supposed to look like that? Cricoid pressure, let me hold her hand. Fetch cart, apply leeches, chase leeches around the jar, squirmy little suckers. Sit on the couch, drink coffee, drink more coffee, drink some more coffee, oh god, my eyes are twitchy. Feel confused, look confused. Change in a closet, did i get locked in again?! Questions questions questions. umm yes, I can do that on my own. Elections, I don't understand how you can buy votes? Why do you want even more power? Have they counted all the votes? Are they done counting? I don't like his face. Wo are they supporting? And then what? Consult, what day of cycle are you? Listen, smile politely at an inappropriate joke, make a smart face. Drink coffee, team I'm drinking I promise. Transvaginal ultrasound, transvaginal ultrasound, transvaginal ultrasound, and differelin for everyone!! Last day in Kiev, I am expecting a money order. After a tricky day hunting for western union, and western union with money, and western union with my money, we find one, it is inside a subway statin, like literally, you have to buy a token and pay for a ride to get to it. So I have a bunch of change and I'm standing in front of the counter trying to count my exact change so I can get rid of coins, when a random dude walks up to me, puts a hryvna (an eighth of a dollar) into my hands with words "here, here, go go already!" it appears I look needy in other countries. On to Moscow. Super early flight, some ordeal with my passport at the border. I get into the city, find my hotel. Wait 20 min to check in because some large group of teenagers are checking in and taking forever and a half. And for some reason I am being ignored, I hate kids, and now maybe this hotel. After surveying my super expensive and super crappy room, I decide to go for a walk to find the clinic so I'm not lost tomorrow. Checking out the hotel map, it turns out the not display the center of the city (I'm in the northern part) and even that in chunks. Fine, not a big deal, I know the general direction, I'll figure it out. On my way there, of course, I stop to add minutes onto my Russian phone (and look like a complete idiot because, did you know, that sim cards expire after 6mo of no use!? Well, I guess no wonder that after three years it is no longer recognizing network, and this is reason why I'm having difficulties adding minutes to my card. Bt thankfully, the girl at the counter, and the dude running the store soared me the eye-rolls unit after I left) so I'm going for a walk, thankfully the weather is nice although it does threaten to rain periodically (I have no umbrella). The city is full of central Asian-looking people, which I don't mean as a racist thing, but just to say that it's really prominent, the presence of Gastarbeiter (guest workers) in the city. They are everywhere, men traveling in groups, men sweeping, cleaning, fixing roads. I pass by a construction area and dudes literally drop shovels and start yelling things at me. Oh god, it's like I never left Tajikistan. It's really surreal, it's like observation and research has already started. I keep walking along large highways, and over larger highways, and past train stations (I do not like train stations. Tis is where homeless people, and sex workers, and...oh yeah, homeless sex workers live. This is where children get stolen and I have poor associations with interviews conducted in the past). Finally I find the clinic, and my options are to get on the subway and go home, or walk back, and since I've already walked here, and the weather is nice and I'm sort of short on cash and should not waste subway rides, I choose to walk home. I verify my route with some security guard, who looks at me skeptically and tells me yes, theoretically you can walk where you're trying to walk to. Then, I turn onto a side street as a shortcut and sort of get confused for a second, at this point I ask a,lady if I can get to where I need to if I just walk this and that way..ummm, no, you cannot walk, but you get a ride. Like, I shouldn't walk there because it's far, or I really just can't walk there?! No you can't walk there you should get a ride. That desnt sound like I can't walk there. So I do. And I walk for a very long time, and then I realize that my feet hurt, and are possibly blistering in my dansko's which I didn't think was possible. And the road keeps running out of road. And I end up taking dirt oaths, and it's getting darker and I'm getting tired? The point is I walked for like 4 hours straight, which I don't think I'm doing again tomorrow. Time to elevate my feet.

Road rules and translational services

This is probably going to be redundant, especially if you've read things about past travels. But I am, again, troubled and the inner linguistic is anguished in me. First, on rules of the road. There are a lot of cars, a lot. Traffic jams are nuts. Traffic stands still in rush hour and cars compete with trams and trolleys for road space. Despite these difficulties, there are some issues I have. There are no left turns here. I can point you to the three (Figuratively speaking) locations where you can actually legally and safely make a left turn. Everywhere else, you cannot. To go left, you need to make 3 rights turns. It takes 7 minutes to get anywhere, if that anywhere involved going left. Consequently, there are a plethora of round circle drives you end up following to point your vehicle in the right direction. And because there are strict and apparently important rules about right of way and main thorough-way, you can't just switch lanes, you must follow the circle drive, brake in the middle of raffia, until some loser or kind soul actually allows you to switch lanes into the right one to, again, go in the direction you actually need to go. This lack of left turns makes me feel like I'm pertually stuck in Zoolander. Second, parking is troublesome, as in, it doesn't exist in the center of the city..or anywhere, really. So cars park on the sidewalk, and pedestrians awkwardly squeeze between dirty vehicles waiting for their owners. Street signs are impossible to find. Street names are not placed on intersections; street names as well as house numbers are stuck directly to buildings. This is a problem if you're trying to locate a building while driving...mostly, because you can't possible make out the street name or number from the road. Additionally, street name plaques are frequently absent from actual buildings, and since streets are never just straight, it's very difficult to know exactly what street you're on, unless, of course, you actually already know. Moreover, buildings that are on the same street are not always on the same straight line. So you wonder around in circles, looking for the street name plaque then trying to figure out which building belongs to which street, all on foot, unles you're carrying binoculars,...which you usual,y are not. In honor of euro cup, many streets around the city are translated. This is where it becomes yet another problem. Some streets are translated and some are just transliterated--something that yo shouldn't do because it only creates more confusion. There is no noun declension in English, so noun endings do no change, so when you continuously change noun ending, street name endings in translation, I bet it causes many people to get lost and then wonder around looking for building numbers and street names. On the train, stations are announced in two languages. Ukrainian, original announcements, are interrupted, mid-sentence, to stick in the English version, with broken up and poorly audible translated names. The point I'm trying to make, someone pays money for all this translational services. But integrity of the language suffers. i can't imagine that there are no quality translators to be found. I'm sure someone has downloaded itranslate on their iPhone. Sme applies to menus, which also have been "internationally" updated, prolly for the euro cup. I'm not even talking about magical food names that don't exist in any language, like whortleberry or cedar nuts. But I am talking about officially translated items, like menu items. There is this thing about patented "house" recipes. These house recipes are created by each restaurant you visit, made up and designed by firms that own the restaurant, making it extra special. S in Russian or Ukrainian, it is perfectly acceptable to order recipes of sauce and beef created by the firm, it when translated, I doubt anyone wants to eat a "firm" sandwich. It just doesn't sound yummy. This also applies to food item name creations that restaurants make up. As creative as it sounds in ukrainian to call your sandwich a "nest" of bread for two chicken breasts, i dont think i'll be ordering a chicken nest for lunch. Two days ago, I found a sandwich made with "chicken ham". There is no such animal!! Chicken and pig can never have sex to procreate such a delicious deli item. Maybe only if it eats whortleberry.