My first Russian kiss. 12 years ago.

August marks our 12 year "anniversary" in Russia.

From Georgia, USA, we transferred planes in Germany. The plane ride from Frankfurt was rough, and the turbulence was difficult. The AC went out. I had to take deep breaths. Then I exited the largest plane I had ever flown in and planted my feet on Russian soil in Moscow about 1:30 PM on a Monday in August of 1998. Foreign soil. Interestingly it was about 85 degrees that day, very hot and humid. My almost four year old daughter, Ashlyn, asked, “But where is the snow?” We all had on about three to four layers of clothing expecting frigid weather. However, within a few weeks, the temperature dropped to 52 degrees.

We were moved to the front of the line at passport control because of our small children. After we stepped out of customs, I looked around for the first time and all I saw was the color grey. That is somehow the way I felt. I did not know what to expect, what to think, or what to do. I was just there. Then the next thing I knew I was riding down a polluted street filled with old cars that looked as if they were made in the 1960s, and the only thing I could do was watch building after building pass. They all looked the same to me.

I will continue to describe my first impressions. With my two daughters and husband, we traveled to a small apartment that was to be our home for the next month. We pulled up on the north side of town to a run-down building with graffiti all over the walls. We walked up a flight of stairs with all of our luggage and footlocker trunks and entered a coded door that slammed behind us. We proceeded up a flight of stairs and stepped into a soviet style lift. The bars closed on us, and we traveled upward to our destination on the third floor. The only city that I could possibly relate it to was New York City. I had heard about the Bronx but never lived there. The apartment complex was next to a main street and housed thousands of people.

As I walked into a stuffy apartment, interestingly I immediately looked for toilet paper. One of my fears was that I would not have any. I remembered from MLC (Missionary Learning Center) that some missionaries were crating such household items; though, we could not crate into Russia. We could only arrive with a few trunks.

I know. It is silly the things that we worry about some time, and one of my concerns was arriving in a country that did not sell toilet paper. As I looked around, I noticed a small yellowish-brown hard roll of paper in the corner of a dirty, dusty bathroom. Well, there it was, though not as soft. Incidentally the toilet was just as yellowish-brown as the paper. Apparently the rusted water had stained the fixture. Also there was plaster everywhere, too. Someone had just remodeled the bathroom but forgot to clean up! Then I walked through to the kitchen and found that our missionary colleagues had left us a basket full of goodies. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and decided that I was going to make it.

Though I was exhausted from traveling nearly 24 hours, I began my duties as a mother to get the house ready for my family. After cleaning the apartment of plaster particles, I distinctly remember finding a bag of freshly washed sheets on our bed. I opened the sack and covered my face with the smell of fresh fabric softener. Thanks missionary family! I once again thought I would survive. Here are some of my thoughts from the first few days in country.

I’m getting used to life here. We can only do about one major thing a day as it takes hours to get anywhere. Just a ride on the metro (underground subway) and bus and back takes three hours. And that’s the fastest way! We went to McDonald’s today. Unfortunately on the way home, we got on the wrong bus, and it carried us on a wrong turn. We had to walk a little extra. On each street going in a certain direction, there is a specific number on the bus. You must get on the right one. We are definitely getting good exercise walking.

I bought some chicken for the first time today. It’s funny. You have to look for what you want, write down how much it cost, what department it is in, go to another place to pay for it, show your receipt to the product-person, and finally get your items. No grocery sacks either. You have to bring your own bags. But most everything that we need is right here around us. Don’t know what it will be like in Bryansk.

Buck’s having difficulty adjusting to the dairy products; they’re shelved, not chilled. 1.8% milk tastes a lot like buttermilk. The cheese is the same way. Uncle Rufus was right about the shelf milk. However, Amielle (my two year old daughter) loves the milk because it tastes very sweet.

It took me four hours to fix supper last night. When I had opened and closed the oven door, the pilot light went out. I did not know. I wash all the vegetables in diluted Clorox water. Everything here takes time. However, I’m faster today. I think I’m getting used to it.
-Journal August 8-9, 1998

Even in the first few years, I wrote:

We have fewer canned and prepared goods here; therefore, most is done from scratch. I have experienced quite a lot since we have been here. At times I have had success, and at times file 13 enjoyed the rejects. One success was a beautiful cake. However, we made moderations on the frosting. The "7 minute frosting" turned out to be a beautiful icing. The egg whites just don't fluff the same though. Maybe one day I will learn the secret touch. (February 2000)

In many ways God showed us that we were welcome in Russia. The Russian people had been smiling at us and talking to the kids as we traveled on the streets of Moscow. A few days after our arrival, a Russian lady we did not know selling flowers handed Ashlyn a small bouquet and a little old lady chased us down the street to hand the kids some old coins from the former Soviet Union. The missionaries said that this never happens.

In our first few days in the country, we had attended a Russian church service that lasted for two hours. The services were held in a hallway of an apartment complex with a few rooms on the side. And some people travel an hour to get to church. We could not understand anything in the language or the customs. The language is going to be hard.

Out of kindness a Russian babushka (grandmother) shared the hymn book with me. A missionary friend translated that I could not read Russian. I will never forget. The lady looked at me and said, “You will.” Then she kissed me on the cheek. My first Russian kiss.
-The Chosen Path, L. Burch