A couple of pictures

An example of Tuvan prayer flags at Beaver Springs, about 20 mins outside the city.



Stopping by a colleague's dacha, I had the chance to observe these cabbages in their natural habitat.

There's one more picture I wanted to load, but somehow it's not working... It was a picture of some cheerleaders that appeared on stage in the middle of the Tuvan folk music concert. I blinked a couple times and didn't quite believe my eyes, but a whisper in my ear from Namdalma confirmed my suspicions. Globalization is a big issue here, especially American culture which seems to take an insidious hold on the minds of the young who believe that everything is perfect in America. One of my missions here is telling the few people who will listen that some things are better in Tuva, including the quality of food and the fact that people consume much less (fuel, consumer goods, electricity, you name it!).

The concert was also a vehicle for maintaining nationalistic myths, both Tuvan and Russian. In fact, if I put on my cynical hat, that was pretty much the whole point. I could write a term paper on this one concert and the uncomfortably co-existing nationalisms, as seen through various numbers celebrating both Tuvan and Russian heritage and traditions.
Music is a political thing in Tuva, especially since throat singing is something that the Tuvans are praised for around the world. Perhaps coincidentally, the United Russia regional coordinator's office is located in the concert hall at the Cultural Ministry, directly across from the entrance to the hall...

Not to get all doomsday on the concert; politics aside, it was--musically speaking--a highly enjoyable experience. There were some very talented dancers and musicians, including one throat-singing guy who was magnificent. Plus, we did the thing that is my favorite thing about Russia of all: we clapped in unison at the end of the performance. This is some Soviet tradition, or maybe it even comes from before, but at the end of a performance in Russia the audience first claps all willy-nilly like we do in America. Then, inexplicably and taking initiave from somewhere within the group, the clapping organizes itself into rhythmical pulses that throb across the entire audience. This always seems to me to be a sign of something wonderful to do with collective society, and just plain classy.