A Russian tradition I had heard a lot about before studying abroad is spending time at a “dacha.” These small, rustic houses are typically a countryside getaway for a family who lives in the city. Many families have them, more than might have a beach house or lake house in the US. These are not extravagant vacation places, but simple back-to-the-land buildings filled with only the bare necessities. The real point of a dacha is to serve as a reason to be outside in nature, away from the city, especially on a gorgeous summer day.
I was invited to my literature professor’s dacha by a friend from the program (her host son), so I ended up joining in on a trip over the weekend. I had heard a lot about the dacha from the other students who had visited previously, but I didn’t realize just how rustic and traditional it would be. Or how magical it would feel. We took a bus leaving Tallinn to the countryside of Estonia only about an hour away, but it could not have felt further from the mall where I got on the bus. We stepped out into a field of wild blueberries, which some friends immediately began picking. I was led through this field to a selection of small houses all grouped very close together, and all only about the size of a hotel room inside. Just enough room for a bed or two, a bathroom, a refrigerator, sink, and small table to prepare food. There were maybe twelve of these such houses in a row together, and many friendly faces outside them, resting in hammocks or idly chatting. I was immediately struck by how much of a community it was, how easily everyone seemed to share the outdoor spaces, and how much love there was between the neighbors. I know that not all dachas are like this—some are certainly intended to be an escape from all of this socializing—but this specific dacha community was wonderful to get to drop in on, and I felt so easily accepted.
When we first arrived, the two of us that hadn’t been before were introduced to the group. Everyone seemed happy to see us, and nobody particularly cared that we were American, or thought it was a reason to behave any differently. We spoke Russian the entire afternoon, which was terrific practice. Even over lunch we chatted about random things that had happened to us in Russian, asking for words when we needed them but generally getting by with what Russian we knew. We’re far enough along in the program that I don’t feel intimidated by using Russian for such a long time anymore, but I did find myself reflecting on just how accomplished I feel after speaking Russian successfully with native speakers for hours on end. From when we arrived at the dacha at 12 to when we left at 7, basically every word I spoke and heard (and even thought) was in Russian—I never would have believed I could do that a few months ago!
Aside from the Russian language practice, we also got an amazing look into some traditional dacha practices. We ate a lunch of plov (an Uzbek rice dish) together outside, and it was cooked using a traditional kazan dish over a fire. We helped a little by cutting vegetables and setting the table, but we were served this free, delicious lunch so generously by everyone involved. Our table held twenty people, and I got to talk to so many new acquaintances from all walks of life. We discussed popular Russian music with a high schooler, how my professor was going to celebrate her cat’s birthday, why Americans use paper plates and drink such sugary coffee, what old Soviet cartoons we should watch, and so much more. It was especially fun to learn situational words from Russian speakers—when we went swimming in the sea nearby, I got to learn the word “meduza” for jellyfish from a friend pointing at one in the water!
The piece of Russian culture I was perhaps most excited about was the samovar. We were taught how it worked and watched them start the fire in the center and put the smoke-stack on top. Soon enough, we were drinking wonderful black tea from it. I grew up drinking black tea with my Indian grandmother at her house on the weekends, and I understood the similar ritual in Russian culture. It’s a great way to relax while bringing everyone together in one spot for tea time. There’s also something special to me about tea being called “chai” in both Hindi and Russian: the universal enjoyment of a warm beverage enjoyed with friends.
I was totally enamored by my experience at the dacha, and felt so much love from the community I have grown close to over these past weeks. As my experience in Estonia comes to a close very shortly, I know I will hold memories like this very close in my heart. Conversations, meals, swimming, lounging, listening to the cello, walking in the woods together—all of these things are what becoming part of a language community is really about, not just practicing grammar (though it is nice to have a little of that too).
Advanced Russian Language and Area Studies Program
Tallinn, Estonia, Summer 2024