Example of a Persuasive Narrative

Kelsea Rabe

English 3193

25 September 2014

Dr. Peters

Мир

            I wasn’t nervous until everyone kept asking if I was nervous. Watching people suck air through their teeth was common after I mentioned my summer plans. Russia hasn’t been in the most positive light lately. When I posted on my Facebook page about traveling to study abroad, I received mostly “I’ll pray for you! Be careful!” There were no well wishes solely; all accompanied with warnings and horror stories. Perfectly sane people had lost their minds in fear over a trip I’d been dreaming about for years. I asked myself the same question my Russian friends asked after they became my Facebook friends, why?

            After thirty hours of travel, you could knock me over with a feather. The few miles it took to get from the airport to the hotel in downtown Moscow took two hours to navigate. Too many people live in Moscow to get anywhere in a hurry. I stayed awake miraculously and snapped pictures of everything I could! This city was beautiful. The stores were huge! The markets were quaint. The streets were clean. This was not the dystopian society everyone had prepared me to encounter.

            Our group was a stone could group of weirdoes. We unashamedly had given up the summer to pursue knowledge at any cost. Four of our members were students at the university as well as one member who was an upcoming senior at a local high school. My cousin was one of our members but besides him, we were as close as the cast members on The Real World on day one. We checked in and we explored the local streets. We were roaming free and I wasn’t scarred. No one ever tried to kidnap me! We went to tour the university before we started classes. The teacher at the university in Russia require the students taking her English course to teach us the ways of Russian while picking up new words and customs in exchange. I was afraid we would be a burden on the students who were required to teach us. They came up to us asking 10,000 questions. As we ate lunch, I thought about all the silly comments people had made about the “rude, scary” Russians.

            Stacia soon became my best friend. We had inside jokes and laughed at the language barrier. She was like any one of my friends back home. Her mother had her expectantly at a young age and her mother raised her in a single parent home. She loves watching romantic comedies and often stresses out about her exams. She could spend days in the mall and enjoys dreaming of visiting America. She had a wit about her that drew me to her instantly. She did not take life too seriously. She was a free sprit in a world I thought would be so strict. I truly admired her and spent most days on her arm asking and answering questions.

Another member of our group, Trevor, wondered how they could spend so much time with us while their school is in session? It turns out they had been ignoring their finals and several classes just to spend time with us! We told them to go about their daily lives, but they refused. They explained to us that they know the stereotypes of Russians that most Americans believe to be true. They asked us how could they go about their day when they have the chance to show even our small group the truth about their culture? I understood instantly.

            I was slack jawed. How could these students care for us so much? How could people assume we are enemies? I feared that perhaps it was the media that demonized Russia. Each museum and palace welcomed us with open arms. They were proud to present their history. It is uncommon to smile at strangers in Russia, but people would hear us speaking and grin. I asked Stacia why this happened. She explained that because of fear, we might be the first American visitors they’d seen. The people were happy to hear English and be able to practice with us. Sharing that I was an English major was a badge of honor.

            One family invited us to their winter home for dinner. I knew this would be where we could really see true Russian culture. We removed our shoes at the door and were greeted with hugs and slippers! The family took us out back to play yard games. They opened up their bathhouse to us and took full scale care of us. They shared the bathhouse experience with us and were so proud to do so. They fed us more than kings and gave us their expensive drink. They allowed us to join in toasting at dinner with the family. The eldest daughter showed us a family heirloom her grandmother left her before she passed away. She teared up but shared the entire story. We took pictures and said our goodbyes after tea. I could’ve moved in forever, and they probably would’ve allowed me.

            Okay, okay. Those are beautiful, kind, specific people, but not everyday street Russians. Those people signed up to take care of us. Street Russian are the people who do not know why we are visiting and have no investment in teaching us. They are the everyday people we walk by. Trevor and I decided to attempt to gather food outside our hotel on our own one night. We were a bit nervous and unsure of how we would be able to communicate without our guides. We left our safety zones and wandered over to the street food lines. This was destined for failure as I am vegetarian and we were not sure (still aren’t) how to explain that in Russian. We gathered our confidence and picked a line and hoped for the best.

               The man in front of us ordered a non-meat version of something on the menu we couldn’t pronounce. Trevor and I began wondering amongst us on how to communicate this desire as well. The man in line in front of us that had just ordered also spoke English and happily ordered for us! He was so happy just to be able to use his English- not to mention meeting another vegetarian. The vendor made our food and pushed juice towards us. We explained we didn’t need drinks and he smiled. “подарок”, he said. Trevor and I thought for a moment until it hit us. This was a gift for visiting. We thanked him a lot and took a selfie with him. We returned several nights to see him again. 

               Though Russians do not often dress in anything less than slacks or a nice dress, we gave everyone an East Central Tshirt to remember us by. They were tickled to have a Tshirt from our university and I was very proud. Stacia sent me a photo in her Tshirt on vacation with her family. We also brought each student that helped us a bouquet of an odd number of flowers. It is Russian tradition they be odd numbered or it means you will be dying soon.

               After all the sights, food, and daylight never ending, it came time for our return. At the train station we were silent. Stacia had come with us to say goodbye. She told me she decided to become a teacher no matter what it takes (in Russia, your test scores decide your college and career). She said we inspired her because she enjoyed helping us so much. We hugged a thousand times and cried as we pulled away from the platform. Russia holds a special place in my heart. The people, the culture, they are charming and addictive. One young lady at the college took this photo with me on our last day of class. She told me to send it to Obama and she will send it to Putin with the caption “Russia and America love!” I think that says it all.