MSI Press Blog

  German Although I could speak German, Johanna and I always spoke Russian. Living in the University of Moscow dorms, we both naturally communicated in Russian all day long. So, when we had some together time, staying in Russian seemed natural. Besides, my Russian was better than my German, at that time at least, and Joanna did not speak English. Russian was the most obvious and best lingua franca. I did know how to speak German, however, I had started my study of German with two years of high school study, followed by upper level university courses. As a linguistics major, German was one of the languages I ended up studying to a high level. Then, in graduate school, I majored in comparative literature, with an emphasis on German and Russian literature. I took comprehensive exams in comparative literature and language exams in Russian and German. I lived in Deutsches Haus (German House) in the university dorms, where my roommate, Brigitte, was from Koeln (Cologne), Germany. She, ju...

  Although I have only visited a couple of times, it feels as if I have been there much more often. There is a comfort in Austria for me—I speak the language, and I grew up in the mountains, though nothing quite like die Alpen . Austria is a country of soaring peaks, shimmering lakes, and villages that look as though they were painted into existence. Life had a commonsense approach, one that allowed time for people to actually "live" and enjoy their time--Volksmarch on a daily basis; time for casual meetings of friends a small cafes for apfelstrudel and bier [beer], or my favorite, Johannisbeere [black current juice]; and an evening at a concert hall for heavenly music.    My connection to Austria is not only through its language and mountains, but through friendship. Johanna—a name I use here since she prefers not to be identified—has been my anchor there. I stayed with her during visits, and she once came to the USA, where we scooted down into Mexico for a day. 👭 The ...

Lake Sevan, perched high in the Armenian highlands, is one of the largest freshwater alpine lakes in Eurasia. Its shimmering blue waters, framed by mountains and monasteries, have long been a source of spiritual and cultural sustenance. For Armenians, Sevan is more than a scenic retreat—it’s a place of gathering, gratitude, and ritual. Almost as soon as we arrived and checked into the hotel, our bus driver brought the sheep and vegetables from the market down to the beach. When we joined him, we witnessed the slaying of the sheep—not a casual act, but a traditional Armenian ritual known as matagh . It’s a gesture of thanksgiving, often performed after surviving hardship or in anticipation of a journey. The animal is slaughtered respectfully, with a prayer, and the meat is shared among families as a blessing. That did not sit well with me. Even though I was farm-raised and our animals served as both companions and food, the eating of “someone” I knew—or had just met—was unpleasant. ...

  We were 20 American professors of Russian on a Soviet bus, heading northeast from Yerevan toward Lake Sevan. The trip was supposed to be simple: two hours, one lake, and a KGB minder named Liliya to make sure we didn’t stray. But the road had its own ideas. About an hour in, we passed a sign for Charentsavan. The bus driver pulled over to the side of the road, turned to one of the professors with whom he had struck up a friendly rapport, and said, “Georgii, so mnoi.” Georgiy followed without hesitation, and the two disappeared into a nearby bazaar. Liliya’s reaction was immediate. “You must not follow,” she said, her voice tight. “This is a closed city.” Then, she ran after them, coat flaring, shoes kicking up dust from the road. We waited a moment. Then, as if on cue, we scattered. Into the market we went—curious, amused, and slightly rebellious. There were onions, bread, eggplant, and the quiet rhythm of a working-class town. No one stopped us. Back on the bus, the driver was t...