"Bryn, how do you say 'Great Patriotic War' in English?"

This morning I woke up to the sound of Nina Evgenyevna's voice. “Brinochka, today is the 69th anniversary of the start of the war,” she was telling me with a measure of importance. After several seconds of brain fogginess, I realized she meant World War II, and doing some math, I figured out that the anniversary in question most likely marked the day German troops first invaded the Soviet Union.

This is very revealing of the different attitude Russians have about World War II. For me, it's something I read about in textbooks in grade school, a horrific war that took place thousands of miles away. Beyond Pearl Harbor and the Aleutian Islands, no part of it was fought on our own soil. When people say simply “the war,” WWII is not even the first war I think of (our current occupation of Afghanistan and Iraq comes to mind first).

But for Russians, “the Great Patriotic War” (what they call the portion of it fought on their own soil) is always conversationally relevant, because it actually crossed their border. Even this deep into Russia, I see monuments to fallen soldiers everywhere, still decorated with ribbons and flowers almost 70 years later. Many of the people I've spoken with have memorized dates, numbers, locations, and names relevant to the war and, given the chance, will fully educate you, as if they're a professional historian. They know which towns, which buildings were destroyed, which of their relatives died by enemy hands.

To me, WWII is the subject of programs on the History Channel. To them, it's their own history. For the first time, I've realized how lucky I am to live in a country that, aside from a few tragic incidents, has fought all wars abroad for almost 150 years.

This fact was made even clearer to me when I went to work today at the museum. My official work today was to practice translating museum tours orally from Russian to English in preparation for a group of tourists arriving later this week—possibly one of the most difficult tasks I have ever undertaken. Although I understand the majority of everyday spoken Russian, what I actually take in is the idea, the gist of it. I understand the who, the what, the where, and the when, and can ocassionally pick up on the how and the why, but I rarely understand every single word. And even if I do, I get so mixed up by the end of the sentence that I can't remember what I was supposed to be translating in the first place. Compound this with the out-of-the-ordinary and technical vocabulary related to museum exhibits and... suffice it to say, this will take much practice.

We were working through exhibits chronologically, but my training derailed as soon as we made it to the 1940s. The woman and two students I was working with decided to explain the whole history of World War II relevant to the Vytegra region. I wish I had been able to pay closer attention, but I was linguistically exhausted after a couple hours of translating, and as soon as the subject switched to the war, they all started speaking so quickly that it sounded to me like machine-gun fire.

Luckily, before long they guessed correctly that I was tired and sent me home, where Nina Evgenyevna promptly put me down for a nap. This is another thing I like about Russia. Napping is not the least bit shameful. All I have to do is stretch out on a couch, and someone comes to put a blanket on me and tells me to take a nap. This even works in other people's houses. Similarly, they encourage eating between meals (перекусывать – to have a snack). There is no such thing as spoiling one's appetite here. When I'm hungry, I am fed. When I'm sleepy, I take a nap. I feel perfectly spoiled.

On the other hand, sometimes all this spoiling crosses the fine line into presumptuousness. Recently, I caught a cold, and as soon as Nina Evgenyevna discovered this, she declared, "I will cure you," and hasn't given me a moment's peace since. Taking mystery pills, gargling some foul medicinal concoction, soaking my feet in hot water... I'm not sure which is more dangerous: catching a cold in Russia, or letting Russians find out about it.

But now that I have patiently indulged her endless list of remedies, Nina Evgenyevna and I are vegging out in front of the TV, watching “Let's Get Married,” a game show she assures me she loathes yet watches religiously. On it, a man (the groom) is presented three brides. They do various things to get to know each other better, and then the groom's panel of friends help him decide which one to marry. What a ridiculous way to take such a serious step. Nina Evgenyevna keeps telling me to put my computer away, that I'm working too hard, and that I need to eat more candy and yell at the TV with her.

Sounds like a deal to me.