Building Bridges of Cheese

My craving for Gouda cheese would not go away, and I soon found myself on the hunt for some in the dairy section of a grocery store in south-west Moscow.  I asked the girl behind the counter where the Gouda was, but she just looked at me as if I had asked her on which aisle I might find the the lost Princess Anastasia.  

Great.

Apparently the word "Gouda" is not one of those blessed international cognates that often comes to the rescue when navigating conversations in a foreign language.  I wasn't about to give up on my quest, but I was getting nowhere fast trying to explain the intricacies of Gouda to a non-connoisseur of cheese.  After several minutes of trying to penetrate the language barrier, I was about to pull out my phone and consult Google translate but a nearby woman walked over and asked me what I was looking for.

"Gouda," I said as clearly as possible.

She replied, "Oh, you mean Gouda.  It's right over there."

She pointed to an aisle behind me where I quickly spotted my beloved Gouda.  I then rolled my eyes because I had pronounced it "GOO-dah" but my cheese savior pronounced it "GOW-duh," at which point the girl behind the counter quipped in exasperation, "Well, why didn't you just say so?!"  At that point I felt like retorting in a British accent, "It's levi-OOO-sa, not levio-SAAA!"  But then I didn't because I doubted they would appreciate the Harry Potter reference.

So I grabbed the Gouda and made my way to the checkout line.  It just so happened that my good cheese Samaritan stood in line behind me with her groceries, so I took the time to thank her for helping me complete my cheese quest.  She said not to mention it, but having noticed my accent she asked me where I'm from.

I paused for just a second.

Whenever people ask me this question, I deliberate over the advice from my well-meaning Moscow Program coordinators to lie about my origins.  They suggest that whenever people ask it's best to answer with England or Canada.  After all, Russia is not on the brink of war with either of these countries, and they seem to think that if I mask the crime of my American birth it will help me avoid inciting conflict on the streets of Moscow.  

But I hate to lie.  And I really enjoy watching people's reactions.

"The United States of America," I proudly answered.

Her eyes widened and the curious smile disappeared from her face.

"But what about the sanctions?!" she questioned, assuming that this sensitive subject was grounds enough to rebuild the Berlin Wall starting right there in the super-market.

First, you have to realize that Russians are much more open to the idea of discussing politics, a topic mostly forbidden in American culture even among close friends and family.  Knowing this I wasn't completely caught off guard, but I knew I had to choose my next words carefully.

"Yes, it's true our governments are political enemies, but that doesn't mean the citizens can't be friends.  Don't you agree?"

She thought for a moment, then her smile returned.

"I suppose you're right," she agreed.

Did you know that Russia is the U.S.'s closest non-contiguous
neighbor?  Our continental land masses are about 53 miles
apart, but there are two islands straddling the center of the
strait (Big Diomede, Russia, and Little Diomede, US) that bring
the distance down to about 2.5 miles at their closest point.

I've thought a lot about my experience with that woman and how we totally bonded over Dutch cheese.  And although I'm just an American drop in an ocean of Russians, I like to think that it's through small and simple experiences like this that great things come about.  There's still a long way to go before we bridge the gulf between our nations, but I am confident that both sides of the Bering Strait will soon realize that our differences are far outweighed by what we have in common.