Today was the first "real" day of the program at the American Home. We stated off with some icebreaker activities (no program would be complete without them), had a 90-minute survival Russian lesson that covered useful phrases for, say, telling someone to get out of your way so you can get onto a packed bus, ate lunch, and then had a good introduction to the structure of classes at the AH. After tossing a football around in the very American backyard and having yet another cup of tea (I think I've had at least eight today), I went back to my apartment. When I arrived, two of my host mom's friends were there, and so I sat down for a good dinner and few glasses of wine. The questions started flowing, ranging for the standard (how much is a normal salary in America), to some unanticipated ones, such as how Americans feel about minority groups. It was a great evening!

I capped off the day with a run, which gave me a chance to start to explore my neighborhood and think about sport in Russia. Running on the street is definitely not normal in Russia, and when I went running over the weekend, I went with my host brother and sister to a weedy, 200-meter asphalt track at one of the nearby schools. While it was fun to race with my host brother, going around and around in circles and dodging potholes doesn't make for a good run. This time, I ran a big circle around my mikroraion (a Soviet planning term for a group of large apartment blocks). There were tons of people out: families pushing strollers, kids playing, teenagers doing whatever they do, lovers strolling, drunks staggering (it's Russia). I got quite a few weird looks, but it was great to get out and do something. Later this week I'll start going to the local sportzal--all this Olympic enthusiasm makes me want to hit the gym more than ever. Sport and sport culture in Russia is one of my favorite topics, so expect more posts about it. I'll just say for now that, as one of the other teachers noticed, Russians don't dabble; as far as sports and working out go, they're either insanely dedicated, or they're chain smoking alcoholics --there isn't much middle ground.

Here is a picture taken looking out my window. I live at the end of the city, and, thanks to Soviet urban planning, that actually means that the city abruptly ends. Across the street (which is actually the very busy Moscow-Nizhni Novgorod highway) is a big forest.