If one enters my humble abode, one of the first items of décor that meets the eye is the vast array of Russian propaganda posters that are suspended from the walls. I fancy myself a Cold War historian, especially the later years of the entanglement, which obviously caught my fancy years ago. Cold War aside, it is plain to see that I am rather intrigued by the east, especially Russia herself. I find it amazing that this country has existed for over a thousand years and no one is the west has really paid much attention to this vast culture (for obvious reasons). To be blunt, if you are a connoisseur of how to make a country work, Russia and her history are a fine example of what not to do.

With the “scholarly” talk aside, I believe that it is important to know why I am a bit obsessed with this backwards nation, as if I were a millionaire; I would in all likely hood move to Siberia or somewhere. As a youngster I was always a bit inquisitive by the way of maps and if you have ever seen a map of the world, Russia tends to stand out (duh). I always inquired with my parents as to why Russia was so big and why if it was so big I never heard about it, but they never really gave me a coherent answer. I would later remember Mikhail Gorbachev’s speech resigning as president of the USSR (and the subsequent dissolution of the USSR) on Christmas Day 1991 and with my natural curiosity as I grew older; I put two and two together. This you could say is the root of my obsession with studying the history and culture of the nation.

I am not in school to study Eastern European history, as that would “ruin it” for me. As in many cases in my life, I like to figure things out on my own. Plus, I don’t care for the academic side of things in this regard (“academic know it alls” tend to complicate matters). Needless to say it is fair to assume that I have read anything that I can on the subject, which is saying something due to the fact that I despise reading in general. It is my goal to spend some more time in Russia to delve into the newly opened archives about the Soviet period (ironically enough there is a professor in my “department of study” that finds it ludicrous that here for public administration and not comparative or international politics). I find it odd that I cannot speak or read a lick of Spanish, but I can read Cyrillic.

I have indeed been to the country once under the guise of a school sponsored agriculture trip. I’ll be the first to tell you that a Russian cow looks and sounds just like an American cow (but a bit skinnier, as Russians do not eat cow, but horse). This is a trip that I will never forget (I was sober for most of it) and would someday like to repeat. Frankly, I was rather enthralled with this place that I had been fascinated with for so long. The secret to Russian diplomacy and generally getting along with people of different cultures is through their good natured hospitality and booze.

A bit of a side story: One evening I discovered that I was not the “iron liver” that I thought I was. Prior to the festive going away dinner, the professor on the trip warned us not to try and drink with the Russians. Translation: I’m going to drink these light weights under the table. The trouble is that I was not aware of the Russian tradition of “toasting.” My memory is a bit foggy, but I estimate that within the first half hour, there were 10-12 toasts, in which I took a shot of fire water (vodka) every time. By the end of this half hour I was sweating bullets and proposing my own slurred, yet comedic toasts. I believe that I was eventually dragged back to my quarters at the end of evening. I love Russian culture.