Brinochka

It's the end of my second day in Vytegra. In the background, I can hear the competing sounds of Mission Impossible, dubbed in Russian, playing on the television, and my hostess snoring as she sleeps off a long day.

Shortly after I woke up this morning, my house-mother Nina Evgenyevna informed me quite matter-of-factly that today is her birthday. She turned 60, an "old woman," she said, and she didn't want to hear any more about it. So I quietly wished her a happy birthday and then sneaked off to buy her a gift.

I stopped by several shops, but had no idea what kind of present would be appropriate. I eventually settled on a box of chocolates. While I was out, I ate lunch at the cafe our group frequented on my last trip. The clerk there remembered me and was friendly and patient while I tried to figure out how to order a good meal.

Alas, in the process, another group of customers in the cafe overheard my goofy American accent, and suddenly, I became very popular.

"Where are you from?" "You're not German?" "How old are you?" "When did you arrive?" "You're not alone, are you?" "Does your mother know your here?" "How much money did you spend on your plane ticket?" Such was the torrent of questions that followed. Anonymity does not last long in a small city like this.

It would have all been harmless, but a couple of the men were already drunk, and one decided to declare his love for me several times over and at times quite vulgarly (the one that kept thinking I was German, no matter how many times I corrected him). Luckily, the clerk rushed to my aid and chased him away, and I made a couple friends out of the ordeal, who have promised to come visit me at the museum to see how I'm acclimating to my work.

Upon my return home, my hostess, who did not want to hear anything more about any birthday, was preparing a huge meal. Guests were coming, she told me, to celebrate. I gave her the box of chocolates, for which she rapturously thanked me, so I guess I picked a decent gift.

The guests arrived while Nina Evgenyevna was out buying groceries, so I took over as hostess. Suddenly, my Russian kicked in, and I was finally able to make conversation. I introduced myself, and they wanted to know everything about me. They asked most of the same questions as before, as well as the following conversation, which I've carried out almost word-for-word with at least 10 people already:

Them: "You have a mother?"
Me: "Yes, of course."
Them: "She knows you're here? She let you come?"
Me: "Yes, yes, yes."
Them: "Is she normal?"

At that point, I explain clumsily that my mother is proud of me and is glad that I have such a unique opportunity. The guests, four middle-aged women, warmed up to me instantly, exclaiming what wonderful creatures mothers are and, "oh I had such a mother once..." Here, Mother is queen. It's a truly lovely part of the culture, the respect they have for elders, especially women.

The hostess returned, and for five hours, we celebrated her birthday, eating more food than I thought possible. Another part of the culture is that the hostess must insist on pouring everyone wine or vodka, and the guests must make lots of toasts. I was worried that I would have trouble explaining that I don't drink alcohol and that I'd offend my hostess in the process. But I figured out the key: all I have to say is, "I can't drink alcohol. It will worry my mother." And I'm off the hook. One must never worry one's mother. So they let me drink toasts with juice, something normally never done.

Everyone was quite pleased with my Russian, and I must admit, I'm doing much better today. I can construct whole sentences, and I even told a couple anecdotes that they seemed to understand. However, they kept forgetting my name. Bryn, for Russians, doesn't sound like a girl's name at all, so they would called me devushka, girl, and ask me again and again how to pronounce my name. Finally, Nina Evgenyevna solved the problem. She has given me a pet name, Brinochka—my name plus a common diminutive suffix. Diminutives and pet names are very common here, so I'm rather excited to be properly initiated into this part of the culture. And it is much easier for Russians to remember Brinochka than just Bryn. So I'm Brinochka, at least among the sweet older women of the town.

Now, the guests have left, and I'm resting up for tomorrow. I start work at the museum at 8 a.m., so I had better get to sleep. So here's one more picture, the Sretenskaya Cathedral a couple blocks from my home, and then it's good night.