Welcome to Russia! Welcome to Siberia!

In the summer of 1994 I received my mission call to serve as a full-time missionary in the Russia Novosibirsk Mission.  I remember reading the letter out loud to my parents in our home in Duchesne, Utah.  My voice caught as I read the word Russia.  For years I had hoped for the opportunity to serve in Russia, even studying the language for a couple of years in high school while living in Pensacola, Florida.  While in Pensacola our Regional Representative spoke to the Young Men, promising us that some of there would serve our missions in Russian.  That was in 1988 or 1989.  The Regional Representative that gave the talk was Richard Chapple, a professor of Russian at Florida State University.  He would go on to become the second mission president in Moscow, serving at the same time I was in Siberia.

My call wasn’t just to Russia it was to Siberia.  The literal translation of Novosibirsk is New Siberian City.  Novosibirsk is located right in the middle of the vast expanse of Russia, one day’s train ride east of the Ural Mountains that separate Europe from Asia.  The Russia Novosibirsk Mission was new when I received my call.  It had broken off from the Russia Moscow Mission about the same time I submitted my application to be a missionary. 

At the end of my amazing two months at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, I flew off to the great cold unknown with a few fellow missionaries.  I was lucky enough to be accompanied by Elder Davis, Sister Watkins and Sister Naegle.  Very early in the morning on December 16, 1994 we landed in Novosibirsk.  Looking out the window of our Lufthansa flight as we came in for the landing I was shocked to see the runway covered in snow and ice.  Somehow the plane managed to stop before sliding off the runway as I had expected.

My excitement to be in Russia disappeared almost completely as our aircraft taxied toward the terminal and came to a stop.  I stepped off the plane into a frozen Siberian night.  I noticed a few young men in heavy winter coats and blue shapkas holding automatic rifles.  They didn’t seem too happy to be outside in the cold as our welcoming committee.  Quickly we were shepherded onto a bus with ice on the floor.  The bus drove toward the terminal as I stood holding onto the ice-cold rail.

Once off the bus we were shown into a hallway with a few more guys with guns hanging out.  We slowly made our way in a line up to a very grumpy Russian guy looking at and then stamping passports.  Once your passport was stamped you went through a door.  When my turn came he glared at my passport, then back at me, then back at my passport.  He mumbled something to me and then looked at me as if expecting an answer.  After over 24 hours of travel and a very limited understanding of the Russian language, I gave my best shrug combined with a look of budding terror on my face.  Disgusted with me he stamped my passport, handed it to me and gestured toward the door. 

Not wanting to risk being detained for any reason, I bolted through the door tripping as I fell through.  I landed on a large pile of luggage.  Looking around I realized that my fellow travelers were looking for their own luggage.  Pretty quickly I found mine, lying open with some of my clothing pulled out.  Apparently it had passed inspection.  On my knees, I stuffed everything back in and sat on it so I could zip it shut again.  Once I had it all ready to go I stood up looking for where to go next.  It was then that I heard the sweet sound of President Sherwood’s voice as he called out “Elder, Elder.”  Looking up I saw him on the floor above motioning for me to meet him in the next room.

Novosibirsk Winter

The drive from the airport to the mission home seemed a bit surreal, made so by the combination of being in a foreign place and extreme exhaustion.  I remember feeling comforted by seeing a STOP sign that looked just like the ones at home.  When we arrived at the mission home we were allowed to sleep for a few hours before getting up for a quick orientation meeting.  Before breakfast I remember looking out the window onto the city square below.  As I looked at the snow and ice on the roads and sidewalks, at the people in winter coats and shapkas, at the buildings and at the sky I felt an overwhelming presence of grey. 

As lunch finished up our trainers arrived to take us away.  My first memory of Elder Wetzel was looking up to find his face.  I’m not sure how tall he is, but he’s got me my about half a foot.  At some point that day we dropped my stuff off at our apartment, then we took off to buy me some new winter boots.  We bought them a little large so that they would fit with thick wool socks that we would purchase later.  With my new boots on I took off literally running trying to keep up with his long stride, which was driven faster because we were late for an appointment.  I’m not sure how many miles we walked that afternoon, but it was more than I had walked in months and I did it while trying to keep up with boots that were too large.

We had two or three meetings that day.  I have no idea what was said or the names of any of the people with whom we met.  During each visit we removed our boots before entering the apartment.  In one apartment I remember breaking into a sweat as they had one or two strong place heaters on in the living room.  My layers that protected me on the cold street were not helpful in the confined space.  At each visit I did my best to smile through a fatigue induced haze compounded by my inability to understand anything that was spoken.

River Ob. I have a picture of me by this bridge my second or third day in country.

As the day ended, in the dark, because the sun went down around four in the afternoon, I was happy to be heading back to our own apartment and to go to bed.  Entering the apartment I took my first good look at it.  It was a run down affair with the bathroom right off the entrance with one main room where our beds and chairs were located and a tiny kitchen.  We were on the ground floor looking out into a courtyard with other apartment buildings.  It was in one of the famous Krushchev five story buildings.  The apartment was not particularly clean and I didn’t do much over the next couple of months to make it cleaner.

That was an exciting apartment where the landlady liked to pound on the door at all times of the day and night, drunk wondering why we were in her apartment.  Once or twice during those two months the police stopped by to check our passports and visas.

Anyway, there I was at the end of my first day in Russia trying to comprehend all the experiences of the past 30-40 hours.  As exhaustion started to overtake me, I leaned down to pull my socks off.  Pulling on the first one, it strangely felt stuck to the back of my foot.  Being the gentle, careful person I am, I yanked it hard and screamed.  I had developed a large blister on my heel because of my oversized boots without the wool socks.  The blister had popped and the blood and scab had attached to my sock.  Once I had the second one off, removed much more carefully I crawled into my new bed with the blanket stuffed into a sheet.  While I was thinking how it was one of the most comfortable beds I had ever been in I drifted off to sleep.

I remember my dream that night.  I was safely backed at the MTC, telling them I thought I ought to stay for another couple of months.  No longer was I in a hurry to get to Russia.  Then someone started to yell at me over and over again.  I’m not sure how long it took me but eventually I opened my eyes to find the good Elder Wetzel standing on his bed with the light on yelling at me and laughing.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to go home.  It was the beginning of what I thought would be a very long and uncomfortable two years.

- Jarad Van Wagoner

Stories from Russia: My Most Recent Trip (and Hopefully Not My Last)!

I love Russia.  I love the place, in all its vastness.  I love the people.  I love the history.  I love the culture.  Recently I’ve found myself missing the Russian experience, thinking back on previous trips and my two years there as a missionary.  Every year I read a handful of books, both non-fiction and fiction, that deal with the country.  Russian domestic and foreign politics grab my attention on a regular basis.

As part of my effort to assuage my pains of nostalgia, I feel compelled to write down some of my memorable and favorite experiences from Russia.  Most of these will be humorous in nature, although on occasion I may decide to write about the more profound.

Rather than start from the beginning, I think I’ll share some experiences from my last visit.  In February of 2010 I went on a work trip for the Air Force Academy.  For this trip I was lucky enough to travel with a good friend and colleague Brett Huyser.  Our trip took us to Moscow, St. Petersburg and Kiev.  The purpose was to visit with the U.S. Embassy in Moscow and to look at semester abroad options for cadets.

A quick word or two about Brett is in order.  Brett is a graduate of the Air Force Academy.  While there he played offensive line for the football team and went onto play a few seasons in the arena league.  He is big and tall, kind of difficult to look past in public.  In terms of language, he studied Chinese at the Academy and after graduation.  He went to Russia with me with no skills in the language, relying on me to keep him safe and well fed.

Our visit to Moscow was largely uneventful, although we made the most of it.  We flew into Domodedovo Airport, the same one that would be the target of a suicide bomber just year later where at least 35 people were killed.  On the way out we found a willing taxi driver to take us to our hotel near the center of the city. 

Following a quick dinner at the famous Yolki Palki restaurant chain, we walked over the Big Stone Bridge to the walls of the Kremlin and took an evening stroll around Red Square.  For a February night, it wasn’t too cold, actually kind of pleasant.  We didn’t spend much time out that evening, but we did manage to get a picture of Brett appearing to take care of some business next to a historical and cultural landmark that shall remain unnamed.  The highlight of the evening, for me, was introducing Brett to the wonders of a Russian Shokoladnitsa, a chocolate house.  The selection of cocoa or a true hot chocolate is always challenging, especially on a cool night.  I believe that night I went with the hot cocoa and a tasteful chocolate pastry.

St. Basils Cathedral on Red Square

The next day we made a quick trip to the U.S. Embassy.  It took us longer to get in than our actual visit lasted.  Our visit was limited to the embassy annex.  Before our late night train trip to St. Petersburg, we ran back over to Red Square for a tour of the National History Museum.  Some of our time, back on the square, was spent browsing the souvenir kiosks.  They had some nice port-a-potties behind some of the kiosks, with the name brand Toi-Toi written in Anglicized letters.  Both Brett and I made use of the facilities.  (This fact will be relevant later in the story.)  Of course, on our way off Red Square we stopped by the shokoladnitsa one more time.

Our ride on the express train to St. Petersburg was smooth even though a train along the same route had been derailed with a bomb just a few months prior, killing 25 people.  As luck would have it our late night arrival into St. Petersburg coincided with the coldest winter in over 20 years and neither of us were prepared.  Luckily we were in a nice hotel right on Nevsky Prospekt.

The next day was bitterly cold and uncomfortable as we visited St. Petersburg State University and the St. Petersburg Polytechnic Institute.  On the way to our first stop, with the temperature at -25 degrees Celsius and a strong wind, we had to stop to buy Brett a souvenir scarf to keep him alive.  At the end of the day, in the afternoon, we found another shokoladnitsa.  This one was even more amazing than the one on Red Square. 

As we entered the shokoladnitsa the three or four young girls working there immediately appeared nervous or excited that two foreigners had just walked through the door on a cold winter day.  I tried to reassure them, using my excellent Russian skills, that serving us would not be a problem.  When I opened my mouth, however, it was too cold to make much more of a sound than a low moan.  One of them, using her broken English, told us to sit and to please wait just a few minutes.  Just as we sat down a young, pretty Russian girl, perhaps 19 or 20 years old came bursting through the door.  The others quickly grabbed her, pulled her behind the counter and whispered to her pointing to us.  My initial assumption that I shared with Brett was that their English-speaking colleague had just arrived. 

After hanging up her coat and putting on her apron, she skipped over to our table with a huge smile.  Expecting her to speak English, I was surprised when she asked us in Russian where we were from.  I confirmed we were from the States and we told in which states we grew up.  Once she took our order she came back to ask us more questions.  She quickly guessed, based on our haircuts and demeanor, that we were associated with the military.  While sitting there she shared the story of her boyfriend who had just gone into the Russian Army and some of her fears and concerns.

Once our drinks (real hot chocolate for me this time, the melted down drinking chocolate) and desserts arrived, she continued to check in on us, mothering over us because we shared the burden of military service with loved one.  It was a very pleasant end to a cold day.

This trip was also memorable because it occurred during the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver.  I had a great time watching the Olympics from the Russian perspective.  That evening in my hotel room I became a fan of the Russian Women’s Curling Team.  It was fun to watch them compete while listening to the commentary on the local stations.

Russian Women's Olympic Curling Team

The Hermitage, St. Petersburg

Leaving our hotel that night for dinner, I fell behind Brett for a moment or two.  Looking up I noticed he had a lady standing next to him at the intersection speaking with him.  I hurried up to make sure everything was okay.  As I reached them another lady joined us.  In thickly accented English they were asking if we had plans for the night.  Brett, always quick to catch on, looked back and forth between the two of them and laughed, quickly discouraging them from continuing their sales pitch.

That evening I took Brett out for some Georgian cuisine.  It’s hard to beat a meal of kharcho (walnut and beef soup), khachapuri (cheese bread with beans or egg on top), and kebabs.  National and cultural cuisines are a highlight of traveling, or can be if you get the good stuff.

Our next day was free for some local exploring.  Feeling brave we decided to walk the length of Nevskii Prospekt from our hotel to the Hermitage Museum.  Once again it was bitterly cold…bitterly cold.  We stopped in a few stores on the way to capture a bit of warmth.  Eventually we reached the courtyard in front of the Hermitage.  It was a big, wide-open space unprotected from the gusting wind.  The distance, perhaps just over a hundred yards was daunting given the conditions, but we pressed on heads down and shoulders hunched.  As we reached the stairs of the Hermitage we were amused to find a gentleman selling shapkas, the famous Russian fur hats.  Had he been on the far side of the courtyard where we began our walk, we may have purchased one.

Stepping into the entrance of the Hermitage, feeling the warmth was amazing after the cold walk.  Originally our plan was to spend a couple of hours at the Hermitage, catching a few highlights, before heading back out to see some other sites.  It was so nice to be in the warmth that we spent over four hours in the museum, checking out as much as possible before stepping back out into the cold.    

Leaving the Hermitage, we put our heads down and walked the couple of miles toward our hotel as quickly as we could.  I looked up as we were approaching our hotel and noticed that we were in front of our shokoladnitsa.  Tapping Brett on the shoulder I pointed it out and we dived through the door.  We must have looked like frozen fish.  Our friend, the young lady from the day before, was on duty.  Seeing us she leapt into action.  She sat us in front of a heater, turning the vents toward us.  Helping us take off our coats, she offered each of us a wool blanket.  We were quick to accept the offer.  At that point, I wish we had asked someone to take a picture of us, huddled up in blanket, looking cold and miserable in a Russian shokoladnitsa with our young Russian mother looking over us.

From St. Petersburg we flew to Kiev, Ukraine to visit with our cadets attending the Nova Mova Language School.  Over three year period I had become great friends with Gela and Andriy, the two owners and administrators of the school.  While at the school we celebrated Soviet Army Day with them, receiving a nice t-shirt and the highlight for Brett, kisses from each of the wonderful ladies that work at the school.  Brett wanted to tell them that the American tradition involved a second round of kisses.

Independence Square--Kiev, Ukraine.  This is the view from our hotel.

Our last night in Kiev, we went into a shopping center to visit another shokoladnitsa.  Brett moved ahead of me saying he needed to find a restroom.  I asked if he needed help, but he said he was fine on his own. 

He walked directly ahead to a young man working at one of the stores, and with perfect confidence, he asked, “Toi-Toi?  Toi-Toi?” 

Based on the brand name of the outhouses in on Red Square in Moscow he had assumed the Russian word for toilet was toi-toi.  The young man, looking confused stared at Brett for a few seconds before realizing he was asking for the bathroom, quickly pointed, feeding Brett’s perception that he was using the language correctly.