Kazan — summer 2012

In 2010 in Kazan at one of our student meetings, I met a Russian kid by the name of Danila. He made a good impression on me; we occasionally kept in touch by e-mail. In 2011 he came to the US on a temporary work visa to South Carolina. Although some of the people there were very kind to him, his employers ended up being jackasses, so in August I invited him to my place in Tempe where he slept on my couch for a month. He got to know Arizona, where everybody treated him well. He attended occasional classes at ASU when the instructors gave him permission as a guest, and he met some of my work acquaintances, most specifically Marina, her husband Billy, and their adorable children.

You know what’s weird? Danila really liked AZ. I mean, most people come to our state and detest the heat. Not Danila. Instead he hated our air conditioning. I assigned him some duties in my secondary office (for which I’m grateful, thanks, Danila!), but every once in a while he simply had to step out to warm up.

So... 2012... I return to Kazan, and his parents want to invite me to their home. This is actually a bit awkward for me. I mean, I didn’t require anything in return. I just wanted to give a Russian kid a chance to see people who weren’t jackasses. Still, from the parental point of view that makes perfect sense. If someone treated my son decently in a difficult situation, I would also want to return the favor.

So I accepted the invitation to their place for... two days. Ohmigoodness. I can hardly tell you how much that makes me flex my intercultural muscles. To spend two days with people I have never met... To put aside my list of tasks... To accept their control over my schedule... Ay-ay-ay... I’m serious. It takes a conscious mental readjustment for me. But Danila was a kid of good character. His family would probably be the same.

So Danila made arrangements to pick me up. I asked what time. He said around lunch time. Americans have lunch around noon, Russians have обед around 2:00. I asked for a more specific time. Danila was reticent to specify. I pushed. He said, “Well, twelve, maybe eleven.” I answered, “Okay, twelve o’clock, give or take an hour.” I would wait for the potential arrival over a two hour period. As long as I have a starting point and an end point, I’m okay.

But I must tell you, here I had made somewhat of a cultural error. Russians generally don’t worry about starting points and end points. Instead, you make a semi-tentative arrangement, and then on the day of the event you call each other to find out whether you still want to do it.

In my experience Russians never show up early. To my surprise, they showed up at 11:40 a.m. I really hadn’t expected them till one or two.

Later I found out that Danila’s mother had said to him as they left their home, “Danila, call Don to tell him we are on our way just in case he has made other plans.” Danila had answered, “Mama, we don’t need to do that. He won’t have made other plans.” Danila has learned something significant about American culture. Heck, when my Mom told me in November that she wanted me to go with her to the Canadian Tenors concert in April, I simply scheduled it in. Mom was buying tickets. If I cancelled, it would have caused some unpleasantness. That’s how Americans plan things... at least Americans of a certain class and profession and upbringing.

My next entries will tell you about my marvelous time with Danila and his family. Stay tuned: same Russki time, same Russki channel.