Getting Cultured

I’ve now been in Moscow for three months, which means I only have six months left before my grant ends. I am already suffering from separation anxiety and entertaining the idea of trying to stay longer, proving I am crazier than anyone originally thought.  Until I am ripped from Mother Russia’s chilly embrace, I’m trying to take advantage of all the Russian culture on offer here in my beloved Moscow.

At the invitation of a Russian friend, I recently went to the Pushkin Theatre to see Much Ado About Nothing. While the Bard might seem about as far as one could get from Slavic culture, it proved to be a wealth of insight into the Russian psyche. Only in a Russian rendition of Shakespeare would the hero deliver a soliloquy in his briefs, the soldiers carry machine guns, and a masquerade ball bear all the hallmarks of a Halloween frat party (slutty nurse included). Even though I had read the play that morning, I still didn’t have any idea what was going on, and I doubt the Russian-speakers did either. That said, it was wildly entertaining and I think I would have enjoyed Shakespeare a lot more in high school had there been less iambic pentameter and more Russian testosterone.

Not quite 17th century England, but close enough

Though not a new cultural discovery, I also paid a visit to the Russian banya.  Something is lost in translation because “bathhouse” does not do justice to the life-changing wonders of the Russian sauna experience. You get naked, sit in a sauna until you sweat profusely, then plunge into ice-cold water...over and over again.  Throw in some good friends to beat you with a bundle of birch branches (it’s good for your circulation) and the banya is the closest thing to heaven you’ll find in Russia.  My 21-year-old self was wary of an activity that essentially boiled down to group nudity and sadomasochism, but I soon realized that of the many things to fear in Russia, this was not one of them.

Why hasn’t America embraced this amazing ritual?

On Monday evening, I dragged Molly along with me for some rest, relaxation, and a preview of what our bodies are going to look like in a few decades. She was a banya virgin, but this was not the first time I had initiated a friend into the mysteries of the bathhouse.  After two hours of shocking my body with extreme temperatures, I emerged into the snowy streets of Moscow feeling like I had just been reborn. Molly, however, was less moved by the experience and wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to be my new banya buddy. This means that until Christine comes to visit, I need to find someone else to take a birch switch to my backside. I know all of my readers are dying to volunteer, but please don’t all disrobe at once.