Breakthrough

Since the days of yore in Irkutsk we have been hounded by one very strange English saying. Since then, and to this day, occasionally we will ask Russians in English, “How are you?” One of the responses we often hear is, “well…ummm….fifty fifty.” I’ve heard it so many times, especially from my younger students, that I sometimes use it accidently myself. “How am I today? Well….fifty fifty.”

Though the response has often amused me, I’ve never corrected it seeing as other mistakes take precedence and it is, after all, understandable.

A few weeks ago, though, Sarah and I were sitting at our kitchen table, over a bottle of Soviet champagne, listing the various contexts we’ve heard this peculiar “fifty fifty.” (NB It’s even funnier when said in a Russian accent: “Feefty feefty.”) I said, “Well, you know, I always want to correct my students on this particular point, but I never quite know what to tell them to say instead.” Sarah suggested various options, including “ok” and “not bad.” Then it struck her, “Oh, we say ‘so-so.’”

As the words settled, I suddenly screamed with revelation. “Give me a piece of paper and a pen!” As I bent over to write, Sarah immediately grasped my intention.

Here Nabokov would add in a little something like this: ‘Yes you, gentle reader, have long ago guessed what was to come.” Or, in his own words: "Oh you, veteran crime reporter, you grave old usher, you once popular policeman, now in solitary confinement after gracing that school crossing for years, you wretched emeritus read to by a boy!"

And so, my few but loyal readers: have you long ago guessed what I wrote down on that sheet of paper? I wrote “so-so” and underneath I wrote “50-50”, and we stood back hooted and hawed at how similar the two looked.

I have since regaled most of my adult students with our new theory: A long long time ago, in a small small Russian village, a lone English teacher taught her students to say “so-so” when asked how they were doing. Her students, rebellious and distracted as they were, did not hear their teacher’s words, and only quickly noted “50-50” in their notebooks. From this moment on, “feefty-feefty” has been a phrase passed on along the generations, slowly spreading through Russia and infiltrating each and every English classroom.

Sarah and I experienced something of what the scientist must feel after hitting upon a successful chemical equation. When our laughter finally abated, we acknowledged that we might live the rest of our lives without stumbling upon something quite so magnificent. What it lacks in likelihood it more than makes up for in brilliant logic.

Unexpected Discoveries

Of course, after having made the sweeping statement that Moscow is a city without individual nooks and crannies, I have come across nothing but beautiful crannies and nooks. On nicer days, when I walk from the metro station to the school where I teach, I become more and more familiar with the 30 minute walk through the park. It is more planned and landscaped that I would normally like, but, seeing as it is in Russia, the planned and executed beauty is something of a surprise. Not many things here were built to be aesthetically pleasing.

Then, today, possibly the last day of summer sun, I made my way down south on the green line to find the honey market that I’d heard so much about. Before I came across it, though, I stumbled into what I think is a national park reserve, complete with sprawling lawns, benches, and a central fountain. Brides and grooms were circling the fountain, and a Simon and Garfunkle melody was playing from overhead speakers. I fumbled for my camera, all the while asking aloud, “Where the hell am I?” I wandered around the fountain and up some paths until, suddenly, I was looking up at an old orthodox church and a palace behind it. I have absolutely no idea how I stumbled into such a parallel universe, and I could not decipher the informational signs scattered around the property. The paths eventually led me to the honey market, which only improved my mood. Honies from every region of Russia, some homeopathic, some vitamin-filled, and some made from the wheat that was used in the kasha that Sarah and I choked down in Irktusk. After many trials, I opted for a jar of “wild forest” (dikii les) honey and brought it home with me as my reward for a sunny day well spent.

It’s strange to see such happy blog entries tripping over themselves on the internet. I expected more unhappiness, but maybe it will come with the wet winter. For now, though, I’m on several simultaneous honey-moons. My older students brought in bouquets, champagne and presents for my birthday, and one of my younger ones came running back into the classroom to give me a single red flower while his mom waited at the door. The city, too, keeps unfolding itself, almost without any prompting from me. I walk out of metro stations and gorgeous parks appear right around the corner. I also am having another affair with the Russian language, since I work exclusively with people who expect me to speak little to no Russian. I told Sarah that she should come visit me if she ever needs a boost of linguistic confidence.

This is probably the happiness of a tourist, and not of a native. My routine is not yet grueling, and my job still provides me with more wonder than boredom. I’ve had glimpses into what the bad days will hold in store---students who are frustrated over a grammar point, throngs of hurried commuters on a metro train at rush-hour, wet sneakers and dirty pants that only an American would tolerate. But Moscow, in contrast to Irkutsk,offers solace, in the form of new friends, places to visit --- sights and ideas to please the tourist in me.