For two reasons July 2009 will be spent by me traveling the beautiful region of «Урал» [the Urals]: 1) because it is where I live (thus it is always close-by) and I know many Russians in different towns in the Urals, thus I can «ездить к ним в гости» [travel to visit them]; and 2) because this region has lovely nature - it is not all «горы» [mountains]. Do please make a note, by the way, of the fact that the Russian name for the region - «Урал» - leaves out the ‘mountains’ part, something present in many other languages, in English for example. In Russian you say «Урал» and with that you feel content and rest assured that people will understand what place on this Earth of ours that you have in mind. Do also note that the locative case (let’s also not forget the Russian name for this case: «предложный падеж») form of this word is «на Урале» [in the Urals (lit. ON the Urals)]. This means that you must also change «предлог» [preposition] when asking the important question: «откуда?» [from where?] and answer it with: «с Урала» [from the Urals], using everyone’s favorite «родительный падеж» [genitive case]. Last week I visited the village/settlement of «Полетаево» [Poletaevo] located south of the city «Челябинск» [Chelyabinsk] and returned with a rather disturbed by the depressing impression the Russian countryside made on me. This week I’ve returned from another Ural ‘sojourn’ with a much more positive impression and restored some of my lost faith in Russia as a country. After all, there are a million sides to every story, just as every coin can be flipped in a thousand different angles, thus a country such huge in size and population as Russia can never be summed up by one visit to one place, one talk with one person or one read of one novel. This country has made itself famous by never siezing to be complex, by enldessly contiuing to surprise and never failing to amaze. That’s why one should never be fooled into thinking anything is ‘set in stone’ in this country just because you have half a decade of experience living here. But that’s the fun about, right? That’s why we keep learning about Russia, isn’t it? Because we remain constantly fascinated by the Eastern Motherland? Because we can never really «поставить точку» [to finish; close the books on] this country?

This is, incidentially, the lesson I learned after visiting «Верхний Тагил» [Verkny Tagil] for one day (yesterday) and one night. It is indeed a «маленький город» [small town] located «на среднем Урале» [in the Middle Urals] about two hours north-west of Yekaterinburg. Today’s post is a picture post about what one is bound to found in a Russian small town - with example pictures from the lovely small town of Verkhny Tagil!

«Итак, начнём!» [Let's begin!]

In every Russian town - no matter how small or distant it may be - there is a «памятник Великой Отечественной войне» [monument in honor of the Great Patriotic War]. Here it might look like this war lasted a very, very long time - between the years 1917 and 1945 - but that’s just because the year 1941 is hidden behind the soldiers.

Many Russian smaller cities are built around one large factory, something called «градообразующий завод» [this could be translated as ‘a factory that creates a town']. When such factories ‘die’ the result is that the town built around them also dies (sad, but true). Verkhny Tagil is built around «Верхнетагильская ГРЭС - тепловая электростанция» where half of the town’s population works.

Of course every town has to have a «баня» [public bath]! This one works between 14 and 22 and have separate days for women and men. Make sure to check this while planning your visit there!

Russian towns - once again, no matter how small or distant from civilization they may be - are very proud of their local history. That’s why you’ll find a «краеведческий музей» [regional museum] that’s always worth a visit. Sometimes you’ll be lucky to find it in such a great state as the one above - newly painted in a beautiful shade of blue.

I’m not sure that every Russian town - due to the fact that «коммунизм» [communism] brought with it «принуждённый атеизм» [forced atheism] when this country was known as «Советский Союз» [Soviet Union] - has a «церковь» [church] yet. But what I know is that small town churches are constantly being either restored or built in Russia today, and that the one pictured above in Verkhny Tagil survived all the 70 years of communism without ever loosing its initial function.

Next week will take me to Красновишерск [Krasnovishersk]. Anyone who can guess what (or who?) makes me want to travel even further up north in the Urals?

Post from: Russian Blog

This big piece of metal and stone is, «разумеется» [naturally; of course], a «Памятник В. И. Ленину от трудящихся Челябинска» [monument to V. I. Lenin from the workers of Chelyabinsk], standing in the very heart of the city of «Челябинск» [Chelyabinsk]. This city with more than a million inhabitants is located in «Южный Урал» [the South Urals] about a three hour drive on a disastrously dangerous highway from «Екатеринбург» [Yekaterinburg].

Actually I didn’t really spend the past «выходные» [days off; ‘weekend'] «в деревне» [‘in a village' - that's locative case of the noun «деревня», meaning village; the country (as opposed to the city)], but «в посёлке» [‘in a settlement' - that's also locative case, this time from the noun «посёлок»: village; community; settlement] about a thirty minutes drive away from the big city «Челябинск». The «посёлок» [this noun is constructed from the imperfect/perfect verb couple «поселять/поселить» meaning to settle] I spent my weekend in is called «Полетаево» and is where the parents of my friend «Ксения» [Xenia] live in a little house. This was not my first visit ‘down south’ in the Urals; I went with Xenia to visit her family there in February 2008 (which I think, and everyone will agree, seems like an eternity ago by now). Since then much has changed, not only in the life of Xenia’s family, but also in Russia in general. As I’m writing this post I keep finding myself troubled with how to start, with where to begin and how to take it from there and get to the point I would like to make today. The thing is that I’ve lived in Russia for five years, and I know that I haven’t lived in ALL of Russia, but I’ve lived in three different cities, and I consider myself pretty familiar with this country in many ways that most people aren’t. Before this weekend I felt like I held Russia in the palm of my hand, like I knew it all. After this weekend I feel like I don’t get Russia at all. Furthermore, it feels like I’m in the palm of her hand - and not the other way around. The experience of seeing the Russian countryside up-close this weekend felt to me like being thrown into cold water suddenly. «Мировой экономический кризис» [the world economic crisis] has indeed hit hard on the Russian countryside - a part of this country that wasn’t doing too well to begin with. Along the roads we kept seeing both old and young people standing selling different things - «ягоды» [berries], «грибы» [mushrooms], «веники» [brooms made of twigs] - and Xenia’s father commented: «Это они не от нечего делать так стоят. Нужно заработать хоть несколько рублей на жизнь» ["They're not standing like because they have nothing better to do. They have to earn at least a few rubles to live on"].

This is what a usual Russian «огород» [vegetable garden] looks like.

«Полтора года назад» [a year and a half ago] Xenia’s parents lived in an apartment in the city, but last spring they bought a house in the settlement and moved out of town. Their house, or more specifically - their garden - has literally saved the family from hunger since the crisis started last fall and Xenia’s father stopped receiving his paycheck regularly. There’s no grass in the garden around their house. They have no place where one might lay around and soak up some southern Ural sun, no lawn to play games on and no seats on which one could relax with «последний роман Сорокина» [the latest Sorokin novel]. Their garden is one big «огород» [vegetable garden]: everywhere grow things that one can eat.

«Капуста» [cabbage] - I can already know how good these will taste fried up with some onions inside traditional Russian «пирожки» [small pies; patties]!

 During the spring and summer months many Russian who aren’t rich - and most Russians aren’t rich - work in their garden like an extra job. Have you ever wondered how come the Russians have survived time and time again of periods when there’s nothing to buy in the stores? Well, there’s no need for you to wonder anymore! Russians grow everything they can grow in their own «садах» [gardens] or «дачах» [summerhouses] and then build food reserves for the long winter. In the year 2009 Russia spent over a billion rubles on «Евровидение» [Eurovision Song Contest] in Moscow while in the Russian countryside people can’t afford even «хлеб» [bread] and school kids show up to class drunk already at the age of 10. No, I’m not making this up. I have met villagers who can’t buy bread; even though I haven’t seen drunken school kids (though I’ve seen plenty of minors drinking beer on their way to school here in Yekaterinburg). When I said that what Russia really needs is to get an educated population, that it is great that higher education is still partly available in Russia for free, then Xenia’s mother asked me what kind of village parents can support a child studying in the city when the monthly state stipend consists of 1100 rubles? I didn’t have an answer to that. On Saturday evening Xenia’s parents took me «помыться в бане» [to wash in a sauna; steam bath] at their friend’s house - they called this friend «Дядя Толя» [uncle Tolya; «Толя» is short for «Анатолий»: Anatoly] - and afterwards we drank tea together and had a heated discussion on politics. They wanted to know what my mother grows in her garden back home in Sweden - my mother does not grow anything in her garden - and this they couldn’t fathom. Why not? Does she not need her own supply own «картошка» [potatoes] and «капуста» [cabbage] for the winter? I tried my best to explain the ‘Swedish system’, at which «дядя Толя» commented: «Да, вы шведы кое-что позаимствовали у наших русских коммунистов - социализм» ["Yes, you Swedes borrowed a little something from our Russian communists - socialism"]. After this comment I found myself lost for words a little while. And instead of saying anything, I just smiled and he kept talking to me in a steady, soft voice that filled the house as the sun set outside over the hills. When you’re all clean and wet and warm «из бани» and you’re drinking sweet tea in a small house far away in the Russian country side with «дядя Толя» who might be old now, but sure looks like he was a handsome man back in the days, the least important thing is to keep track of who’s right or who’s wrong. On such Saturday nights you simply do your best to soak up the cultural differences that make you a richer individual - on the inside.

In «Челябинская область» [the Chelyabinsk Region] there are a lot of villages called «башкирские деревни» [Bashkir villages]. In them live «башкиры» [Bashkirs], belonging to one of the many peoples of Russia. They’re «мусульмане» [Muslims] and that’s why there’s at least one «мечеть» [fem., mosque] in all of their villages. Not far from such a village we first came across this «пастух» [shepherd] on a horse with his cows, then it started to rain and we picked up «бабушка» [sometimes it means ‘an old woman'] and drove her home. She had an adorable accent! And I was especially proud of myself for spotting a fellow non-native speaker of Russian without being warned first. Small victories, it is all about small victories…

So what else can one do in the Russian countryside, except for drinking endless cups of tea, planting potatoes and discussing the brilliant short stories by «Шукшин» [Shukshin]? Well, for example one can take a bucket and head out in the fields to pick «земляника» [wild strawberries], or…

…why not take the old faithful for a drive downtown to «играть в бильярд» [shoot some pool]? After all, as the old saying goes: ‘Life in Russia is only limited by your own imagination’… or maybe that’s not an old saying at all but something I came up with right now?

Post from: Russian Blog

When opening this brand new 21^st century edition of this 19^th century «повесть» [story; tale; ‘novella'] «Портрет» ["The Portrait"] you find the following information on the first page: «издаётся к 200-летию со дня рождения Николая Васильевича Гоголя» [is published for the 200^th year anniversary of Nikolai Vasil'evich Gogol's birth]. What else is special about this edition? Well, it is part of the series «русская классика в иллюстрациях» [Russian classics in illustrations] and that’s why…

…it is filled with beautiful illustrations like the one above just as if it had been «детская книга» [a children's book]! The illustrations were made by a certain artist by the name of «С. Г. Гонков» and made me feel like I was 10 years old again as I read through this book, coming across inspired pictures here and there. Now, this story by Gogol’ is not a children’s story - that’s why I was so surprised when I was given this book as a gift a month ago. Illustrated novels for adults - now that’s a great idea! This edition has not only paintings to look at, but a serious introduction written by a candidate of philology and almost 20 pages of commentaries. I don’t know about you, but I love to read commentaries to books, because you can learn a lot from them. In this book I learned that the word «беленкая» [‘white' (adj. fem. sing.)] during the 19^th century meant «бумажная ассигнация достоинством 25 рублей (белого света)» [paper bill worth 25 rubles (of white color)].

While I wrote my last post - «Ода гречке» [An Ode to Buckwheat] - I thought I was ‘coming out of the buckwheat-closet’ and felt more than a little nervous to read your reactions afterwards. And then it turned out that I wasn’t the only one with a thing for «царица круп» [the Queen of Grains] out there! So many comments from all of the world! That’s great! Thank you all! It was wonderful to hear about your love for Russian cuisine. I will be sure to write more on the subject - «имейте терпение» [have patience]! However, now I find myself facing another obstacle - how to follow such a grand post on «гречка»? With a profound study of different «маринованные огурцы» [pickled cucumbers], perhaps? Or by sharing some in-depth reports from exciting mushroom hunting trips (the season is just about to start here in Russia, you know)? No. I’ve decided to let the food related topics rest until I’ve acquired a good Russian cookbook and in the meantime I allow for «Николай Васильевич Гоголь» [Nikolai Vasil'evich Gogol'] to take over the blog today. After all, the year 2009 is his year - 200 years since the birth of everybody’s favorite Ukrainian-Russian 19^th author - and I’m ashamed to admit that I have not been attentive at all to this fact during the entire first half of it. Today I went to Yekaterinburg’s literary museum, which is located in a very picturesque part of the city called «литературный квартал» [The Literary Block] (the whole block almost entirely remains the same as it was in the 19^th century - definitely worth a visit if you’re passing by the Urals), to have tea with my friends who work there. And it turns out that they had an extensive exhibition dedicated to Gogol’, which I had completely missed, but as I looked at it I came to realize that people should read more Gogol’. I’ve been contemplating putting together a ‘Summer Russian Reading Guide’ for about a week now, and after reading Lizok’s entry on her blog “Reading Russian Books at the Beach” I conclude that I’m not the only with this idea. However, let’s get started with a few examples on how you could honor the genius Gogol’ by reading one of his works the summer of ‘09!

«Портрет» (1835) ["The Portrait"] is the book pictured above in the illustrated edition that I just finished reading an hour ago and very much enjoyed. The way the book was written was quite surprising to me, since I’m mostly familiar with Nikolai’s more humoristic works - though by way of his long sentences and frequent use of «причастие активного залога прошедшего времени» [the active participle in past tense] in sentences like: «На другой же день, взявши десяток червонцев, отправился он к одному издателью…» [On the next day, after taking about ten three-ruble gold coins, he went to one publisher...]. The novella’s plot circles around a painting with demonic powers, able to make any honest artist into a jealous and evil individual incapable of enjoying life. The main subject of it is the question ‘what is talent?’ and ‘what is an artist?’, two questions which we know to have been very dear and important to Nikolai Vasil’evich. The novella is divided into two parts; in the first we find out how the painting led one aspiring poor artist to ruin, while in the second we meet the painting’s author and learn about his choice to join a convent after finding out what his own creation is capable of. As always, Nikolai Vasil’evich is most convincing when touching upon religious ideas in his works - for those of the readers able of keeping an open mind, that is.

Other works of Nikolai Vasil’evich worth checking out:

«Мёртвые души» (1842) ["Dead Souls"] was meant to be the first part of a trilogy based on the concept of Dante’s “The Divine Comedy” and supposed to chronicle the fall and rise of «Чичиков» [Chichikov]. Nikolai Vasil’evich only managed to publish the first volume, in which Chichikov travel the Russian countryside buying ‘dead souls’ - «крепостные» [serfs] that have died since the last counting of them but have not yet been marked as dead in official documents - as a way to make his fortune. While he visits several rich and not-so-rich «помещики» [landowners] out in the Russian countryside the reader starts to become aware of the fact that the title of this book has nothing to do with dead serfs, but everything to do with people who are dead even though they continue to seemingly be alive… Nikolai Vasil’evich finished the second volume but burned it and so we’ll never know how things would’ve turned out for Chichikov. What we do know, however, is that the first volume is a masterpiece!

«Шинель» (1842) ["The Overcoat"] is a short story about the poor clerk «Акакий Акакиевич Башмачкни» [Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin] who does nothing but dream of a new overcoat. I’m not going to spoil the ending for those of you who have yet to read this splendid little story, but I will tell you that I’ve read it many, many times and always find something new to wonder at in Niklai Vasil’evich complex language! (No, I would not recommend reading Gogol’ to beginners of Russian… but reading him in your own native language first, and then in Russian - aided by a good ol’ dictionary at your side - now that I would highly recommend!)

«Нос» (1832-1833) ["The Nose"] is my favorite work of fiction by Gogol’! The first time I read it I could not believe that someone so long ago had managed to write something so brilliant, so funny and so absurd! The first time I read it was when I was 17, and then in Swedish, and I remember that was amazed by the fanastic story - since then I’ve read it many times in Russian and I’m still amazed every time. The plot is extremely straightforward: a man wakes up in Saint Petersburg one morning to find that his nose is missing. He later spots his nose on Nevsky Prospect and by then his nose has become a high official and does not recognize him. Now if you’re not afraid of laughing out loud in public while reading, then I would suggest you bring «Нос» to the beach with you!

Oh, and there’s always the hilarious «Ревизор» ["The Inspector General"] which is a play, but could be read like a novel, too… The works mentioned and recommended by me above are but a fraction of everything great and splendid and funny written by Nikolai Vasil’evich. Maybe your personal favorite did not make my list, but what I really wanted to say was this: you can’t go wrong with Gogol’ the summer of 2009!

Post from: Russian Blog

Introducing an essential part of Russian cuisine: «гречка»! «Гречка» is actually the ‘nickname’ («уменьшительно-ласкательный вариант» - don’t you just love the Russian language for applying diminutive even to such things as grains?) whereas the real name for buckwheat is «гречиха». In the stores you can also find it in boxes marked «крупа гречневая» [buckwheat] as pictured above.

Your first «гречка» experience is more often than not an unpleasant one. If you’ve never tasted «гречка» before in your life - and I hadn’t until September 2004 in Saint Petersburg - you’re bound not to like it the first time you try it. (There are also a slight number of people who fall in love with «гречка» at ‘first bite’ so to speak, let’s not forget about them but let’s also not focus too much on that tiny group of individuals.) After your first unpleasant experience with «гречка» there are two possible ways in which your relationship with it will progress. Scenario 1: you’ll smell it somewhere (it’s doesn’t matter if it is «в столовой» [in a dining hall] or «на кухне у русских друзей» [in your Russian friends' kitchen]) and suddenly feel an instant urge - despite better judgment since you didn’t like it the first time you had it - to try it once again. You try it again and then your love for «гречка» is a firm fact of reality. Scenario 2: you’ll tell the story of your first encounter with «гречка» to someone and explain to them in detail how you just don’t get what the big fuss is about. The other person - be it a kind «бабушка» selling «семечки» [sunflower seeds] on the street in downtown Krasnodar or a fellow ‘expat’ while dining at an expensive French restaurant on Red Square - will then take time out of their busy day to inform you of how good for your body «гречка» is, how healthy you’ll become after eating «гречка» on a regular basis, and that you’re very silly for not liking it straight away once it will only do you good and you should be thankful for being introduced to it in the first place. «Гречка» is not only great because it is tightly connected with our favorite country Russia - Russia, for example, is the world’s largest producer of «гречка» since 2005 (when they beat China to it!) - in many ways, both cultural and historical and «гречка» even kind of smells like Russia (at least to my nose); «гречка» also lowers cholesterol, helps clean the body from heavy metal ions and protects against cardiovascular illnesses. And here’s another reason why «гречка» is worth paying a tribute to today: because it takes a long time for the body to absorb and thus that means you’ll feel full for a really long time after eating «гречка» and feeling full is a great thing, don’t you agree?

Now the question that arises is: how to cook «гречка»? Well, there are lots of lots of ways to do it! The easiest way - and perhaps only available in Russia - is to buy the kind of «гречка» that comes pre-packed into small plastic bags of 100 grams ready made to cook for 15 minutes on medium heat.

The magical thing about «гречка» is that you can cook it for every meal of the day: «на завтрак» [for breakfast], «на обед» [for lunch] and «на ужин» [for dinner]. With «гречка» you can never go wrong no matter what time of the day it is! For example, for breakfast you can make «каша» from «гречка» by boiling it and then eating it with «молоко» [milk], perhaps adding a splash of «варенье» [jam] or some «корица» [cinnamon]. Or you could skip all of the above and have a real rough Russian country style breakfast with just adding «масло» [butter/oil] and «сол» [salt] and downing it with some «чай» [tea] - and save the «варенье» for your tea and you’ll have yourself a true classic meal to start the day! Having «гречневая каша» for breakfast is not only the ‘patriotic choice’ but also the healthy choice; plus it will keep you going strong and feeling full all the way until lunch!

For lunch or dinner you can boil or fry «гречка» and serve it in a way that the Russians call «гарнир» [garnish; trimmings] with whatever comes to mind - «мясо» [meat], «курица» [chicken], «рыба» [fish] or «овощи» [vegetables]. It really does go well with just about anything. The important thing when dealing with «гречка» is to keep an open mind and remember: «гречка - это не только полезно, но и дёшево» [buckwheat is not just healthy but also cheap]. Here in the Urals people are much simpler than in the European part of Russia - it’s not only my personal opinion, they say so themselves - and rather easy-going when it comes to food. For a person living in the Urals fried «гречка» is best served up plain «с майонезом» [with mayonnaise]. Do you wonder why? Yekaterinburg is largest consumer of mayonnaise per person in the world - once again, not my personal opinion but stated as a historical fact in the Guinness Book of World Records. To make your meal taste ‘more Russian’ the easy trick is to add «укроп» [dill] or «петрушка» [parsley]. Something that is really tasty is to fry onions with mushrooms, then add these two spices - use both for increased sense of the Motherland - and serve it together with «гречка», of course!

Here’s another serving suggestion - my favorite, as a matter of fact. Cook «гречка» and fry up some «рагу» [ragout; vegetable stew] - serve together with a few «маринованные огурцы» [pickled cucumbers]. You can also add a splash of the best ketchup I’ve ever tasted - «кетчуп русский с укропом» [Russian ketchup with dill]. Probably it’s only available in Russia! Anyway, it is a miracle and amazingly tasty!

I’m a really huge fan of Russian cuisine. And I think that many of you who read this blog are just like me when it comes to Russian food - that you also get weak in the knees when thinking of «блины», know your exact favorite kind of «огурчики» [pickles - now that's diminutive of cucumber for you!] and tell a homemade «оливье» [traditional Russian New Year's salat] from a store-bought one. That’s why I think we should have a couple of more posts about Russian food this summer. Don’t you agree? Well, writing this post has made me really hungry. I’m actually going to go cook me some «гречка» for lunch right now…

Post from: Russian Blog

And where might one find this bold statement made out of red metal on red wood pictured above? I found it in an old and forgotten «дом культуры» ['house of culture'] in Krasnoyarsk in July 2005. What does it say, anyway? «Мир народам, власть советам» ["Peace to the peoples, power to the soviets"] written in old school Russian with the «ъ» [hard sign] at the end of masculine words which was what they did before another important Russian revolution of 1917 - the Orthography Revolution.

The Soviet kitsch on the picture above isn’t solely opening today’s post because it is worth sharing with the world, but because it contains two whole constructions with the dative case, and that is - incidentally - what we’re going to discuss today: «дательный падеж» [dative case]. In this case the question «Что?» [‘what?'] becomes «Чему?» [‘what?'] and «Кто?» [‘who?'] turns into «Кому?» [‘who/whom?']. Masculine nouns that end on a consonant get an «у» added on to the end of the word, which means that the male professions «врач» [doctor] and «шахтёр» [miner] become «врачу» (note how the stress in this word falls on the last vowel!) and «шахтёру» in dative case. Masculine nouns that end on the soft sign - «ь» - receive the same kind of ending, but a soft one in the form of the letter «ю». Thus «водитель» [driver] turns into «водителю» and «учитель» [teacher] to «учителю». Female nouns that end on an «а» change that letter into a «е»; for example «учительница» [teacher] becomes «учительнице» and «продавшица» [saleslady; salesgirl] turns into «продавшице». Female nouns that end on «ь» [soft sign] on the end - mostly this is abstract words like «возможность» [possibility; opportunity] and «жидкость» [fluid; liquid] - receive their ‘dative case change’ in the form of the letter «и». Thus in dative the two words above will look like this: «возможности» and «жидкости». And how about «средний род» [neuter]? Even though neuter will pretend to be its own grammatical unit, it is only really so in the first nominative case, because that’s when you can see that the neuter words have an «о», like the word «озеро» [lake], or a «е», like in «знание» [knowledge], at the end of them - which is, as we all know, the first sign of a word being neuter. But when you start changing these words in different cases you’ll soon come to find out that most of them behave just as if had they been masculine! Both of the words receive letters at the end according to the same rule that goes for masculine nouns. Thus «озеро» becomes «озеру» (because «о» is considered a hard vowel) and «знание» turns into «знанию» (since «е» is a hard vowel).

Clearly, we should discuss the ’sexes’ of Russian nouns more. I’ll make a note of it and promise to return to it. But for today, let’s go ahead and go through some of the basics concerning the case of the day - dative!

This is a Russian/Soviet classic: «Миру мир» ['Peace to the world']. The Russian word «мир» means both peace and world and that’s why you can write tricky sentences like this one. But that’s not why scholars are still discussing what Tolstoy actually meant with the title of his little fictional work «Война и мир» ["War & Peace"], but because the old Russian word «мiр» used to mean ‘society’ way back when…

The dative case is, as is the general rules with Russian’s six cases, closely linked with a couple of verbs that always demand to be followed by it. For example:

«звонить/позвонить» - [to call]

«Позвони мне!» - [call me!]

«Я звонил другу весь день, но тот трубку не берёт» - [I've been calling my freind all day, but he isn't answering; lit.: ‘but he doesn't pick up the reciever].

Dative is mostly famous for being the case used in IMPERSONAL CONSTRUCTIONS. Yes, we have reached the very core of the mysterious Russian language! Let’s have a look at a few ways to express an ‘impersonal construction’ using the dative case.

«Вам не холодно?» - [Aren't you cold?]

«Не стыдно вам!» - [Aren't you ashamed of yourselves!]

«Им не кажется, что этот ресторан - дорогой» [It doesn't seem to them that this restaurant is expensive].

«Тебе это не нужно» - [You don't need this].

«Ему хочется спать/есть/пить» - [He is tired/hungry/thirsty].

«Нам пора пойти домой» - [It is time for us to go home].

«Ей придётся пересдать на водительские права» - [She'll have to retake the driver's license test].

«Как это ему удалось, не знаю!» - [I don't know how he succeeded with this!]

«Брату нездоровится» - [My brother is feeling ill].

«Сестре надоело ждать меня» - [My sister got tired of waiting for me].

«Петру, наверное, скучно одному на даче» - [Pyotr is probably bored alone in the summer house].

«Матери некогда» - [Mother has no time].

«Мне лень готовить и прибираться» - [I'm too lazy to cook and clean].

The dative case is also used in constructions with numbers expressing AGE:

«Сколько тебе лет?» - [How old are you?]

«Мне 32 (тридцать два) года» - [I'm thirty-two years old].

«Бабушке Маше недавно исполнилось 88 (восемьдесят восемь) лет» - [Granny Masha recently turned 88].

«Петру будет 12 (двенадцать) зимой» - [Pyotr will turn twelve in the winter].

«Моему городу почти 500 (пятьсот) лет» - [My town is almost five hundred years old].

This is, of course, not everything there is to know about the dative case in Russian language, it’s more of a ‘brief introduction’ but I hope that you got the general idea. Dative expresses the indirect object, or an impersonal object in Russian language, and is highly important, because with it one must express almost all Russian emotions! By the way, my finals are over for this year, I got straight A’s and am now officially halfway to a master’s in Russian literature! And what does that mean? That I’ll have more time to blog, of course!

Post from: Russian Blog

Usually my Russian hometown «Екатеринбург» [Yekaterinburg] looks like this: «бесконечные пробки на улицах» [endless traffic jams on the streets] and «бесконечный ремонт домов и дорог» [endless reconstruction of houses and roads]. But not anymore!

Now my «родной город на Урале» [hometown in the Urals] looks like this! Pictured above is the main street of the city - «проспект Ленина» [Lenin's prospect]. You might not find this picture too extraordinary, but let me inform you of the fact that I’ve lived here for almost three years and I’ve never actually seen the asphalt there before for all the cars… So what’s going on in Yekat right now, you’re wondering? Well, yesterday and today (16-17 of June) marked the summit of «ШОС» [SCO] - that’s short for «Шанхайская организация сотрудничества» [Shanghai Cooperation Organization]. Tomorrow another summit starts here in our town: «БРИК» [BRIC]- that’s an acronym for the countries «Бразилия, Россия, Индия, Китай» [Brazil, Russia, India, China]. Yes, we’re all crowded with international presidents and thousands of policemen flown in from all over Russia to protect them (from us or from themselves, now that is the question…)!

During the past two months Yekaterinburg, where I have lived, studied and worked for almost three years now, has changed greatly day by day before my eyes - «к лучшему!» [for the better!] Yekaterinburg is like most Russian large cities; with both good and bad sides and its own little special, quirky details. But most of all it’s just like any other Russian city at this point in time - growing fast and changing at an even quicker rate. The financial crisis hit hard during last fall, and for a while everything seemed to be standing still; for a couple of months all construction sites around town (they’re everywhere here!) stopped working. Then in April - with the two international summits SCO and BRIC only two months away - the Russians proved that they indeed can do things right: if they’re forced to, that is. Yekaterinburg shaped up in ways I had never foreseen. Roads were fixed or built from scratch all over again (since they were in such a poor condition to begin with), buildings were painted, flowers planted, embarrassing elements removed (such as advertisement reminding of the ongoing financial crisis, mostly those saying «аренда» [for rent] on new fashionable buildings) and Yekaterinburg began to look like a ‘real’ modern ‘megapolis’. Most of these changes, though, were made only within the center of the city and mainly their the efforts were concentrated on the roads on which the delegations were to travel on during this week in June, yet the amount of work that they pulled off within two months are still worth an enormous amount of respect. They even managed to build a new terminal at the airport! (My close friend, who works at the airport, said they did it so fast that it’ll probably come tumbling down by the end of June, but hey, if that’s not the Russian way, then I don’t know what ‘the Russian way’ is.)

The green building seen in the background - newly renovated for the purpose - is «резиденция президента Российской федерации в Екатеринбурге» [the residence for the president of the Russian Federation in Yekaterinburg] where «Дмитрий Анатольевич Медведев» [Dmitry Anatol'evich Medvedev] might be having his tea right as you read this as he’ll be staying there this whole week. I’m sorry for the poor quality of the pictures today - my camera broke and I’m forced to document Russian reality with my phone these days…

At first I thought of calling today’s post: “Word of the Week: «Показуха»” [colloq. show; window dressing; from the verb «показать/показывать» - to show; display; demonstrate], since that’s what has been on my mind the entire month of June. Because, I thought, Russians don’t care about keeping their city clean for themselves, but as soon as somebody from the outside decides to take a peak at how they’re living, then they’re always careful to put on an impressive show. Afterwards everything - as is the general rule - falls to pieces while the last flight with important international people leaves town. Today I took a walk around town and it changed my feelings completely. The city has never looked as good as it did today - everything was clean, even the weather behaved well (sunny and warm!), there were hardly any cars on the streets which meant that the city was calm, quiet and perfect for walking around and enjoying life in. Everywhere in the city people seemed to be feeling just what I was feeling; everywhere people were walking around and listening to the silence and soaking up the sun and breathing not-so-dirty-as-usual air. With a couple of police officers on every street corner this is the safest I’ve ever felt in Russia. I don’t mind if this will last for just for a week or a month - «я горжусь своим городом» [I'm proud of my town]. One of my friends sighed deeply at the sight of empty, wide prospects everywhere and said - not without a sweet sense of tender nostalgia in her voice - «Ах ты, совок!» «Совок» is the Russian word for the English variant ‘Homo Soveticus’; in the way she used this word it can be translated as: ‘Ah you, Soviet Union!’ Or something like it. And I have to agree because yes, in a way today Yekaterinburg looked just like it does on all those old Soviet photographs… clean, empty and filled with men of the law keeping order.

«Точно как в старые времена!» [Just like in the olden days!]

Post from: Russian Blog

The pictures are back! «Замечательно!» Now the blog will be complete again! «Как хорошо!» And what better a tribute to Russia’s uniqueness - which we are about to celebrate tomorrow on the 12^th of June - than pictures taken from the last wagon on a train while traveling through Siberia?

The choice made for the post’s title today is unfortunate since it cannot be translated back into the language of our affectionate obsession - «празднуем Россию!» [‘we celebrate Russia!'] Is that something one is allowed to say in Russian (not politically, of course, but grammatically and stylistically speaking)? I have no idea! But what I do have an idea about is how to best prepare for tomorrow’s «день России» [‘Russia's Day'] - with looking into the most difficult part of the Russian language: «совершенный и несовершенный виды глагола» [perfect and imperfect aspects of the (Russian) verb]. Yes, the time has finally come to clear up a thing or two about the most dreaded aspect of learning Russian - funny enough it is also known as ‘aspect’. Why have I as of yet - after a year and a half of writing for this blog - failed to pay proper attention to this highly significant part of Russian language, why have I cautiously ignored the fatal question of ‘«делать» versus «сделать»‘ for so long? Well, it is time for a confession: the aspect system of Russian verbs is so complex that a foreigner cannot comprehend it fully and wholly EVER. Now don’t let that get you down (or you could argue with me on this point; having a profitable dialogue with people of different opinions is what I’m all about - bring it on!) because you can learn the basics of it almost painlessly. «Почти» [almost] is the key word right now, right here. But let’s forget about that for a moment and focus on what we CAN learn - the foundation. The foundation for the Russian aspect system is easy because it is built around two central moments:

1) Whether or not the action achieved a RESULT. If yes, then the verb should be perfect - «да, мы это сделали!» [yes, we did it!]; if no, then imperfect is to be used: «нет, мы этого не делали» [no, we didn't do it]. (Do note that «это» in the second sentence is in genitive. Why? Because of the tiny little word «не»! Remember the rule about how negative statements should have the object in genitive? Well, here you have that rule in practice!).

2) Whether or not the action was REPEATED. If the action was preformed only once, it should be perfect - «ко мне сегодня зашёл Иван» [today Ivan came to see me], but if the action was repeated, then the aspect used is imperfect: «ко мне сегодня часто заходил Иван» [today Ivan came to see me often]. (Pay attention to the addition of the adverb «часто» [often] in the last sentence; usage of such adverbs that imply repeated actions, like for example «всегда» [always], «обычно» [usually], are always used with imperfect verbs! And not only in textbooks for foreigners, but also in real Russian life, so be aware of this and it will make things a lot easier!)

Now all of my examples above were concerning «прошедшее время» [past tense], but we all know that Russian language have two more tenses: «настоящее время» [present tense] and «будущее время» [future tense]. And how is the system of aspect reflected in these two other tenses? Let’s start with present tense first, since that’s by far the simplest. In Russian present tense is almost always (except when Russians say: «сейчас скажу» [lit. ‘now I will tell you'] and you think you have to wait for a while before they’ll tell you what they wanted to say to you, but then they tell you this straight away, and you realize that the perfect verb in future tense here is really about the present, but let’s not get into that today…) presented by an imperfect verb. To illustrate all of the following I will use ‘aspect couple’ (or ‘friend-verbs’ as I like to call them on a good day) «сдавать/сдать» [to hand in, to turn in; to hand over, turn over; to return; to bring back; to rent; to lease; to surrender; to give up] in the context of «сдавать/сдать экзамен» [to take/to pass an examination], because this combination is extremely present in my life at the current moment, «поскольку летняя сессия в полном разгаре» [since the summer session (examination period at the end of the spring semester in institutes of higher education in Russia) is ‘in full swing'; ‘at its height'].

In present tense the verb used is in imperfect, thus defining the action as yet lacking any result: «Я сдаю экзамен по истории русского литературоведения» [I am taking an examination in the history of Russian literary theory].

If that was easy, then let’s move on and discuss the future tense. In Russian language there are two different kinds of future tense. The first one uses «быть» [to be] in present tense plus an imperfect verb in infinitive. «Я буду сдавать экзамен по современным концепциям литературоведения» [I will take an examination in modern concepts of literary theory]. This construction tells nothing of whether or not this action will have any result, whether or not it will be repeated - it is focused solely and entirely on the mere reality of a fact that will take place in the future. The second way of making future tense in Russian language is by using a perfect verb (which only have the functions of future or past tenses; they have nothing to do with ‘here and now’). But with the verb I have chosen for today the future perfect verb used in the sentence: «Я сдам этот экзамен!» will mean not ‘I will take this examination’, but ‘I will pass the examination!’. Not all Russian verbs in perfect have such a ‘semantic twist’ [change in meaning] about them, but some do and it is important to be aware of this already from the beginning so as not to get too confused once you’ve dug your nose deep into the textbook to study them.

The perfect future tense means that the action will have not only an end - that this action will not go on forever - but also that there is some sort of result expected to come out of it. If I say: «я не сдам этот экзамен» it means ‘I will not pass this examination’, and the result here is clear for everyone to see: «неудовлетворительно» [the grade 'fail']. The imperfect future tense does not care for results or ends of the action mentioned. Thus if I state: «я не буду сдавать этот экзамен» [I will not take this examination], there is no way of knowing what is to follow such an action of mine.

Of course, this was but a very short introduction to ‘aspectology’ in Russian language, written merely because tomorrow is Russia’s Big Day and what better way to celebrate her than to try to learn something really ‘Russian’ (or ‘very Slavic’ at least)?

Post from: Russian Blog

Knowing EVERYTHING about Pushkin is not imperative for a foreigner who does not intend to become a «пушкиновед» [a scholar of Pushkin's art]. And learning everything about Pushkin is impossible since there has most likely been a Russian doctor’s dissertation on each and every word ever used by Pushkin. Probably there have been doctor’s dissertations on the words NOT used by Pushkin, too. But you should know your basics, especially on a day like today, when all literature lovers in Russia gather in towns and villages alike to recite his poems, poems dedicated to him, poems dedicated to poems about him and rejoice in his genius. Pushkin was a genius. That’s the first basic information a foreigner must know about him. In Russian you state it like this: «Пушкин - гений». That’s a present tense sentence hinting at Pushkin’s immorality (compare the old Lenin slogan often used in reference to Pushkin these days: «Пушкин жил, жив и будет жить!» [Pushkin lived, is alive and will live!]. You could use past tense, too, of course: «Пушкин был гением» [Pushkin was a genius].

The second basic is the fact that Pushkin’s poetry created the Russian literary language. Or in the words of Turgenev: «Пушкин создал наш поэтический язык, наш литературный язык, и нам и нашим потомкам отсаётся только идти по пути, проложенному его гением» ["Pushkin created our poetic language, our literary language, and all both we and our descendants have to do is walk along the road which he laid down (for us) with his genius."]. Do you find this hard to believe? Try reading a work of Russian fiction written before 1820 and you’ll come to find that it is not only hard work, but contains very little esthetic pleasure for the eye and the mind. Pushkin combined simple folk sayings with Old Church Slavonic expressions, threw in a couple of things he found in European literature of the time and - voila! - modern Russian literary language was born.

Thirdly you should be acquainted with the fact that Pushkin «не только писал стихи, но и прозу» [not only wrote poetry, but also prose]. His prose is as amazing as his poems and Pushkin is generally acknowledged to have created the realistic Russian novel. Some say Lermontov and his «Герой нашего времени» [«A Hero of our Time"] marked the entrance of the realistic novel in Russian literature, but those better informed will sneeze at such words and say: “But what would Lermontov be without Pushkin?!” and remind you of how Lermontov got his literary break-through in 1837 - with a poem about Pushkin’s death in a duel! So which of Pushkin’s prose works should the formerly ignorant foreigner be familiar with? Most important (this is my personal opinion, it is in no way the only ‘correct’ opinion) is «Капитанская дочка» ["The Captain's Daughter"]. This title has little to do with the work’s central plot - it is about the Pugachov uprising - and is interesting for two reasons: 1) its structure (it is built in a very modern way, and one will soon forget that it was written almost 200 years ago when reading it); and 2) its cultural information (which proves that Pushkin not only knew how to rhyme, but was highly skilled in historical investigations). As a matter of fact Pushkin was preparing to write more about the Pugachov uprising in the future, and had even been granted special permission to go through old state archives but - «увы!» - was killed in a duel at the age of 37.

The fourth basic fact - though in importance it should be regarded as Number One - is that Pushkin is the author of the best book ever written in Russian language (once again this is my personal opinion, but I think everyone will agree with me after reading it in the original): «Евгений Онегин» ["Eugene Onegin"]. This «роман в стихах» [novel written in poetry] the famous semiotic scholar Lotman (go Tartu University!) called «энциклопедия русской жизни» [an encyclopedia of Russian life]. The plot is fairly simple: the upper-class snob «Евгений Онегин», also known as «лишный человек» [a superfluous man] as he lacks a proper function in life, leaves his society life in Saint Petersburg behind to take care of his uncle’s old house in the country side. Eugene Onegin is bored to death with his stylish life in Saint Petersburg, but he realizes that the simple life in the country side is even more boring. But then there happens to be a neighboring family nearby with a young pretty daughter - and enter «Татьяна» [Tatiana]. Tanya (which is short for Tatiana) takes a liking to Eugene Onegin and he starts spending more and more time in her family’s house as a guest of honor. But Tanya isn’t your average country girl. She’s much stronger in character than Eugene Onegin and has a much more exciting personality than the man she falls in love with - but then again, at the time of their meeting she was but thirteen and should be forgiven for this ‘fling’. Her age isn’t stated in the novel, but curious and scrupulous scholars have determined this as a fact. Tanya writes a letter to Eugene Onegin in which she explains her feelings. Eugene Onegin is not capable of dealing with real emotions and tells her that even though he’s into her too, he cannot - «увы!» - be with her. After this Eugene Onegin’s friend is killed in a duel and he flees to the big city. A couple of years later - enough for Tanya to turn eighteen - he goes to a high society ball and meets Tanya again. Now she’s everything she wasn’t when they knew each other in the country side: she’s dressed in an expensive dress, known and loved by everyone in Moscow’s finer circles, and married to a rich older man. And Eugene Onegin finally comprehends that he loves her and thus he falls to her knees and confesses his love for her. Tanya calls him a fool (not literally, but it’s all there - in rhyme!) and turns him down.

Reading «Евгений Онегин» in Russian is difficult, but definitely worth the hard work. There are also many good translations of it into other languages. The best translations were made in the 20^th century. After this novel the main theme of Russian language was decided on once and for all: strong women having feelings (of pity?) for weak men. All of Russian literature could be viewed as variations on this theme, especially every single novel written by Turgenev…

Then you should of course be aware of how Pushkin died. A Russian poet’s death is crucial to his or her art and therefore it is no surprise that Pushkin died in a duel with a foreigner (gasp!) at the absolute height of his life: at the age of 37. The age of 37 is also known as «пушкинский возраст» in Russia. And even when we’re celebrating not his death day, but his birthday today, we must remember this. Because who knows what he could’ve done had he been allowed to live on for another ten or twenty years?

The last information is only for those intended to brag to their Russian friends about their knowledge of Russian literature. Try to slip into conversation today that a) Pushkin gave Gogol’ the plot for «Ревизор» ["The Inspector General"] (in an alternative version Gogol’ stole the plot for his great comedic play from Pushkin); and b) Dostoevsky’s favorite poem by Pushkin was «Пророк» ["The Prophet"], which he very much liked to recite at public gatherings.

Post from: Russian Blog

The Russian word «деньги» is plural, and even though it has the singular form «деньга», this form is never used in speech in Russia. So then why do we need to know that this word is a feminine noun to begin with? I’ll tell you and you’ll thank me for it afterwards - when we put this word through Russian language’s tricky labyrinth of six cases we are very much in need of knowledge of the word’s initial form. Genitive plural of this word is «денег» - but wait, where did this new «е» come from? Actually, there is a hint at it in the nominative plural form «деньги», yes, you guessed it: the «ь» [soft sign] tells us that if an extra vowel should enter this word (which happens not always, but often enough for one to be aware of this when learning new Russian words - one can never be too prepared!) then it must be a soft one, which, of course, «е» is. And why do we need to know this word’s plural genitive form? Because it is the form always used when something is lacking or not existing at all, which we know often happens especially to money. Good expressions to use are, for example: «Нет денег!» [‘There is no money!'] and «Денег не хватает» [‘There's not enough money'].

The money used in Russian is known as «рубль» [ruble]. A «ь» [soft sign] at the end of words in Russian marks not only that a soft vowel should be added to it when changing according to different cases, but that is word is EITHER feminine or masculine. This you can never ‘guess’ just by looking at a Russian word - even if you were to look really, really close at a word for a really, really long time - this you must try to remember with every new word ending on a soft sign that you learn. I’ll help you out with «рубль», though, and tell you that it’s masculine. «Рубль» is a ‘true’ Russian word since it comes from the Old Russian word «рубль» meaning «обрубок, затычка» [stump, stopper (plug)]. Think of the verb «рубить» [impf.: to chop; to chop down; cut down; fell; to slash]! Since this word ends on a soft sign it should change form in the following way by help of the soft vowels «я» and «е»: «два рубля» [two rubles], «десять рублей» [ten rubles], «в рублях» [in rubles] and so on.

In Russia the money - I mean, of course, the rubles - have different cities on them. I think this is pretty interesting, but that might just be me. Be sure to take a closer look at your rubles when in Russia, because not only are there different historical Russian cities on them, but also monuments connected with these cities. Can you guess which ones? And who the people on the Russian money are? Anyway, here’s a list of cities found on Russian rubles:

«10 (десять) рублей - Красноярск» [Krasnoyarsk]

«50 (пятьдесять) рублей - Санкт-Петербург» [Saint Petersburg]

«100 (сто) рублей - Москва» [Moscow]

«500 (пятьсот) рублей - Архангельск» [Archangelsk]

«1000 (тысяча) рублей - Ярославль» [Yaroslavl]

«5000 (пять тысяч) рублей - Хабаровск» [Khabarovsk]

I’ve only owned «Хабаровск» twice in my Russian life - the first time I ever received that large an amount of money was in December 2008, which means that I lived here for four and a half year without ever seeing 5000 rubles up close. This bill is the prettiest bill of them all - not solely because it is a lot of money - but because it’s brick red!

Post from: Russian Blog

But an even worse situation could occur when you’re a beginner at Russian or just a regular newbie in Russia and someone says to you: «Давай возьми!» What on Earth do they mean? Let’s try to understand by taking a closer look at these two words: «давай» is the imperative form in singular from the imperfect verb «давать» [to give] and «возьми» is the imperative form in singular from the perfect verb «взять» [to take]. Logically, the sentence «давай возьми!» should be translated as ‘give take!’, but let’s remind ourselves of the fact that the imperative form «давай» can also mean ‘let’s’ or ‘come on’ in Russian. Thus, when a Russian says this to you they are in fact not asking you to give them anything, but wanting you to take something from them. For example: «Давай возьми ещё кусочек тортика!» [Come on (go on) and take another piece of cake!]

Have you noticed that Russians say «мы с тобой» [‘we with you'] when what they really mean are «я с тобой» [‘I with you']? Once you get a hang of it and understand that the «мы» in the expression «мы с тобой» doesn’t mean ‘we’ as in ‘the person speaking plus other people not present at the current moment’ but actually only two people - «я и ты» [I and you], things will move very smoothly in Russian daily life. What can be tough on the beginner is the first time you meet someone with whom you are «на Вы» and they say - with only the two of you present at the time - «мы с Вами» [‘we with You']. You might begin to wonder “Who are all these other people?!”, but do not worry, they’re only talking about you and themselves - in plural. The first time this happened to me I started to look around me for these ‘other people’ but it, of course, turned out to be a fruitless search.

But there is another expression that truly ‘takes the cake’ as Strangest Russian Expression: «Лапшу на уши вешать кому-нибудь». Yes, what does that expression mean? Let’s break it down word by word. «Лапша» means ‘noodles; noodle soup’ [in the expression this word is in accusative: «лапшу»]; «на уши» (note that the stress falls on the preposition here!) means ‘on the ears’ since «уши» is the plural form of the word «ухо» [ear]. The verb «вешать» means ‘to hang; hang up’ and is imperfect ‘partner’ of the ‘verb couple’ that has the perfect verb «повесить». The expression’s last word, «кому-нибудь», is dative and means that the ‘somebody’ in this context is an indirect object. So, what do we get? “To hang noodle soup on the ears of someone”? Yes, as a matter of fact that is the complete translation of this expression. But does that make any sense? No, I’m afraid not. That’s because what it means has clearly very little to do with noodles, maybe it has something to do with ears, though, since it means ‘to fool somebody’ and ‘to lie to somebody’. The ‘fooling of someone’ and ‘lies told to someone’ in this expression is not first and foremost just untruthful, but more of a tricky and humorous character. I can’t seem to think of a proper English variant, maybe someone else has any idea?

I’ve asked many Russians about the origin of this expression and received different answers. The most probable - perhaps because it is both culturally and historically interesting - is that the word «лапша» in itself is an ‘exotic new thing’ since it arrived in Russia only in the early 1990’s and was for a long time something ‘foreign to Russian culture’. Hence it was (maybe still is?) something that one can hang on people’s ears - figuratively speaking - when telling lies to them.

Post from: Russian Blog