vlad.tribnet.com / Issue #163 / Social life / Reading article...

Rose-smelling is a learned art. To stop your harried pace, arrest scattered thoughts, to smell the flowers — as the saying goes — this requires effort in a busy world. All the more so here in the Russian Motherland.

Without a doubt, the life of the reporter demands a certain frenzy. I am constantly bouncing from interview to interview, collecting notes, checking facts, courting sources. I must suffer the whims of capricious telephone lines, obstinate politicians, and even suspect statistics.

Just in the course of trying to do my job, I am routinely stranded by public transport, dirtied by non-existent water, frowned upon by disapproving shop clerks, and rejected by bored bureaucrats. Sometimes, daily life here is Russia at its very worst.

So why do I continue to be fascinated by this country? It certainly isn’t the fact that people stare whenever I open my mouth to speak. It isn’t the fact that a stroll down the street can sometimes leave one as filthy as a roll in a pile of ash would. It isn’t the fact that usually there simply isn’t an explanation for the way things are — they just are.

No, my fascination with this country is more complicated than that. And somewhere between the villages of Razdolnoye and Chaika, as I rode in the back of a car, returning home late at night last weekend from a marvelous shashliki excursion with friends, I realized, at least in part, why I continue to return to this country for all its apparent contradictions.

It is because here the roses, though more elusive, seem brighter in color, greater in substance. When a person is generous here, it is “shirt-off-your-back” generosity. When a person smiles, that smile almost seems happier, compelling one to reciprocate. Here, the dirt is dirtier, the cold is colder, the banya heat is hotter, the salt is saltier.

Life is in your face here in Russia, constantly. And the beauty inherent in that can easily be overwhelmed by frustration, revulsion, or misunderstanding. I’m guilty, I imagine as many of us are, of getting caught up in the travails of daily life here. Deal with it and don’t lose perspective, I suppose would be the advice to offer. And don’t forget that a rose, by nature, grows with thorns. That shouldn’t stop you from smelling it.