Our Journey to Anya: Our Most Memorable Thanksgiving

I think it’s safe to say that this was our most memorable Thanksgiving ever. Wow, what a day. It’s the wee small hours of the morning (Black Friday, now that I think of it!) and I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d record our Thanksgiving Day adventures. They are definitely worth writing about.

We were lined up with a woman in her early 30’s named Natasha and her mother, Nadesdta, who are members of our faith here, by a mutual acquaintance. Several weeks ago I emailed Natasha to see if they would be so kind as to have us as guests while we are here, so that we could save some money and experience the true culture at the same time. Natasha was so kind and willing to open up her home to us, but told us that they only had a sofa in their living room where we could sleep. Since there are two of us and we knew that sleep would not come easy anyway, we’d better stick to the hotel option. This has proved to be a very wise choice, especially since 1) my awesome sister and brother and law have paid for our hotel with Marriot points and 2) our hotel has been a true haven every day after experiencing emotions, fatigue, harrowing driving experiences, culture shock and bitter cold wind against our faces.

After deciding to stay at the hotel, I told Natasha that we’d still really love to come see them while we are here so that we could really get a first-hand glimpse into the life of an Eastern European family. She invited us to come to their home for dinner one of the nights, and we chose Thanksgiving as that night, and were so happy to have them as our “family” for our American holiday.

Natasha and Nadesdta live on the other end of the city and it really didn’t make sense to have to pay $60 or so to have someone drive us there, plus have to deal with rush-hour traffic. So we decided to brave the subway.

The subway experience, itself made this our most memorable Thanksgiving. To get an idea of how funny this was, you have to realize that Jeremy and I have never lived in a big city. Jeremy said he rode the subway in London once, and we rode one in San Frascisco once on a vacation. But it’s a different experience when you can’t read the signs, and you’re in Russia!

We walked 5 or 6 blocks from our hotel to get to the metro station. When we got there, we saw hundreds of people out in front of the building, piling in to the main doors. No lines. Just a big herd of people. The only way to get in to the doors is to join the herd, and the only way to join the herd is to start at the back and inch your way through it like everyone else is doing. It reminded me of when I was a kid and would hold your breath, plug my nose and jump into the deep end of the swimming pool to dive for a penny. I would get to the bottom and feel pain in my ears and start to panic, but realize that the only way to get the penny was to keep going. After about 20 seconds, we noticed that we were being squeezed from all directions, almost suffocated! I held on to Jeremy’s hand for dear life, hoping we wouldn’t separate. Logic told me to panic, but no one seemed to be the least bit phased by it, so we figured it’s just the way that masses of people get into buildings here. Boy, it sure was a relief to make it in to the doors of that building.

So we made it through the first step. The next step was getting into the main station. We had some tokens that Elena sold us so that we wouldn’t have to buy them there. But when we got to the part where you put the tokens in, we couldn’t see anyone using tokens. Everyone had cards that they were scanning. Where does the token go? In an effort to prevent us from getting trampled by someone, Jeremy drug me back to the back of the station and suggested that we watch to see if anyone has a token. We couldn’t see any, so Jeremy called Boris, our English-speaking driver to ask him what the heck you do with the tokens. He laughed and told him you put them in the little slot in the front of the rotating gate thingy. Oh, of course. Thanks, Boris.

OK, got into the gate thingy. Now we have to make sure we get on the subway that is going in the direction that we need to go. We found the sign that had the longest list of stops on it and figured that must be the right one, since the other one only had one stop and we need to go two stops away before we switch to the next subway. Just then we noticed that the train was stopped and the doors were open to get on. So we ran up to the doors and Jeremy stepped in. At the same time, the door started closing. He tried to stop it from closing by pushing it with his hand like an elevator door, but it didn't work. I squeezed in and my foot got stuck in the door. Somehow I managed to pull it out and the trian took off. Aaaagh! People were looking at us like, "you dorks, don't you know you can't do that?"

Well, we somehow made it to Natasha’s stop. She was waiting for us there, warm and welcoming as we knew they she. We felt at home with her immediately.

Their apartment was only a few blocks from the subway station. It was built in 1917 and they have lived there since Natasha was three years old. To get into the building, she opened this tall, wooden door with her key. We took five flights of concrete steps before we reached their floor. Imagine hauling groceries or a stroller up those stairs every day! No elevators.

Their apartment consisted of a tiny entryway with a tiny bathroom, a kitchen about the size of our master bedroom closet, a living room with just a sofa, bookcase, and a table with a TV, and two bedrooms. The floors were made of old patched-together wood and the walls were covered in a heavy wallpaper that had been there for decades. It was so simple and small, but we felt the spirit of Christ there and knew that they were as happy as anyone could be. What humbled me most, was knowing that they were not considered “poor” people here. They were as middle-class as it gets. They have a simple life that all takes place by foot or subway, and they are just as happy as we are.

Our two Russian Hostesses

Nadesdta was so sweet and welcoming to us. She couldn’t speak a single word of English and she was surprised that we didn’t know any Russian. We communicated through Natasha. They made us the most delicious dinner that consisted of mashed potatoes with a Hungarian “Chicken Catiatorie” type of topping (didn’t write down the name of it, but it sure was good) fresh cucumbers and tomatoes, canned corn (not heated up) and sliced bread. In true Russian fashion, she kept offering us more and more. We were full.

I’ve decided if I could have my way, I would some day travel the whole world over and have dinner in the home of one family in each country. You truly learn about people when you are in their homes, experiencing their lives in such an intimate way. We enjoyed every minute of our conversation. If I had all day to sit here and write, I would talk about our conversations. It was really a neat experience.

Our journey back on the subway was interesting once again. We got on the wrong one and when we exited, two stops later, we discovered that we were not in the same station we were in when we first started. Woops! Our trip back to the hotel took twice as long as it should have. Hee hee—we just laughed at ourselves and chalked it up as one more interesting piece to add to our subway story. It woudn’t have been so funny if we had kids in tow or were on a time schedule at that moment.

It was wonderful to get back to our warm, safe hotel room. What a day.

And now for the eye candy. (If you haven't already scrolled down looking for it. Ha!) Here are the pictures from that morning that we took at the orphanage. This was our favorite visit. Tanya was so excited to see us when we got there. She also started calling us Papa and Baba (momma.) I don't think she has any concept of what parents are, but just hearing her call us that warmed our hearts. What a gal.