An addendum: journalistic integrity

I must apologize, dear readers, of which there are probably 3. My favorite part about blogging, besides exercising my snark muscles, is turning into a mini-journalist. In my previous post, I fell into the easy trap of complaining about the Olympics, like many other real journalists. I forgot my roots of enjoying the seemingly bizarre, strange, and generally wonderful randomness of Russian life. Alas, fair readers, I have succumbed to the stereotype of my people--the Spoiled American.

So let us try this again. Sochi 2014 is not so bad, but it is full of classic Russian oddities. Toilets are normal (boohoo the septic systems can't handle toilet paper, big dealio) and are actually wonderfully clean. People who cannot help are at least nice (still useless dunderheads, but they are harmless in their sweet ignorance) and the police are still terrifying and grumpy. English translations are hilarious--at the dock there is a sign warning us not to throw our "darbate" overboard. The Russian clearly says garbage, and I can justify the "g" to "d" mishap, but the "t" is an unsolved mystery. Pictures to come later. Security is at a ridiculously granular level (3 checkpoints and 2 X-ray machines/metal detectors to get from the street into my room, which has nothing to do with the Olympic Games) but it comforts me that I will probably survive this trip shrapnel-free. We befriended a lovely Indian-American woman who has shown us that racial profiling is alive and well still (surprise surprise). No not all places outside the Olympic park accept credit cards and we can live with that (if I have to hear "We'll they do in America" one more time, I may kick a small child if the child deserves it. And for all of the bezdomashniye sobaki (stray-dogs...this lack of a Russian keyboard is murder) scandals, there are still hoards cruising the street for a snack of your leg. Respect the wise creatures and ye shall not perish today.

That being said, yes Russian governing bodies are generally corrupt and not free. The infrastructure at the venues leaves much to be desired and the half-finished look is unsettling at best. But it is not the horror tale these sensationalists are spinning. Russia, with all of its European and modern pretenses, is its own entity. Its own beast. It does not have all of the things your are comfortable with and used to. It pretends to be Western and then turns you upside down on your head when you least expect it. That is what makes it dangerous. That is what makes it frightening. That is what makes it glorious.