When I studied abroad in Spain for 3.5 months, I was amazed at how many holidays and celebrations they could fit into the month of May. Between Los Cruces, Los Patios, Feria, and Flamenco concerts it was difficult to understand how any work really ever got done. Here in Kazakhstan, I’m finding, it is quite the same. And, now that I’m working full-time, I’ve realized that not only there is an illusion of not much productivity occurring – it’s just that not a lot of work gets done. We’ve had two holidays already this week, and another one coming up. On May 1st we celebrated The Day of Solidarity and Interracial Friendship. That was nice. We had the day off from school. We enjoyed the slowly warming weather. We drank vodka (just a little). May 6th was Parent’s Day, a Russian tradition where everyone goes to cemeteries to remember their friends and family who are feeding the birch trees and green and yellow grass that surround their final resting places.
SS and I taught 6 classes, which were all significantly shortened and poorly attended, and I accompanied my host mom and sister to the grandparents’ house out in the suburbs. We met up with a cousin and aunt, and took a car to the cemetery. We arrived at one of the village cemeteries (not one of the two large city ones) and headed to the family area. As we pulled off the dirt road into the grass to park, we were greeted by other aunts and uncles, cousins, and various in-laws. Behind them were the gravesites, each one or two fenced off with a waist-high iron railing. The tombstones were mostly metal or wooden crosses with a porcelain picture of the occupant attached. The graves themselves were small flowerbeds. We had brought with us plastic flowers to affix in the soil, and walked around the section of the cemetery with my host family’s relatives. My host mom explained who was related to whom, who died when, and even which family members nobody really liked but they would leave a flower (not the best ones, mind you) for anyway. After reminiscing a bit and placing all the flowers, we pulled all the food out of the car and set up a banquet-sized picnic. Everyone gathered around the blanket on the ground and ate, drank, and asked the American if we did the same thing in the US. We ate and ate, and took shots of vodka. We didn’t cheers each other, but did say toasts to those past and present, paying special attention to the 19-year-old cousin that died in a car accident only a few years ago. We ate our full and then made one more round of the graves, leaving cookies, cakes and eggs amidst the multi-neon-colored flowers.
The day was a little awkward, being a tagalong at a solemn family event, but by the time we went our separate ways, I had several uncles inviting me to come visit sometime. Back at home after four hours of walking, talking, eating and drinking, I crawled into bed. I was supposed to tutor SS’s niece and nephew, but I called and cancelled, promising to meet on Thursday. At first I felt bad neglecting my work, but then I thought, Hey, it’s May.
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2 comments:
Decoration Day, and a time to clean up the graveyards. In Bavaria a great deal is made of this, much like you experienced. The entire municipality has a holiday, and the middle-aged and above (not many young -- they weren't alive when many died in WWII, e.g.) go to the graveyards for cleanup, after which the graves are decorated anew and there is a little meal -- reminiscences along the way. Catholics and Protestants have different holidays for this, but each day gives everyone a day off.
Speaking of WWII dead, Murray State University once had a president who had been a military attaché to the US embassy in Moscow. He was a fair amateur photographer, and exhibited a selection of his phtos of Russia. Striking was how many mausoleums there were as tributes to that war which cost Mother Russia so many of her children.
Your granddad experieced as a kid very similar graveyard visits once a year. I remember going as a small kid with several aunts and uncles. They not only cleared the gravesite of relatives but also cleaned up the entire graveyard. It was a small one in Miles, TX where I was born. I no longer have relatives living in that small town, but I understand other people in the town still continue the
practice. I do not remember having a picnic on such occasions.It is interesting to learn that similar events take place in Kazakhstan on the other side of the world.
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