OFS-1, or "Back in the Classroom again..."

So it's my third entry and I'm already slacking on this whole regularly posting thing. I can assure you that it's not necessarily because I was having fun (the whole time) this last week. I will start this blog off with my first of possibly more than one editions of "Fun Observations Upon Which I've Drawn Hasty Generalizations that I Don't Necessarily Believe Competely."

Fun Observations Upon Which I've Drawn Hasty Generalizations that I Don't Necessarily Believe Completely:

1. The Vodka does taste different in Russia. Vodka is still my least favorite liquor, but my opinion of its Russian variant is more favorable. It's not that it tastes any better, per se, but, as I was told by people beforehand, it "goes down easier." Luckily it also stayed down. I can't say the same for the other Americans in our little class. It is also dangerous to drink with a Scotsman, but if the Scotsman speaks much better Russian than you, it's actually really useful (Love you, Paul! I know you're reading this!).

2. Many of the men from Russia/former USSR (perhaps just the engineers at this company) are not all that tall. At 5'6", I'm usually dwarfed by my friends, but I feel more average (perhaps even... tall?!) here.

3. Seatbelts aren't necessarily taken seriously in many parts of the world. This might be some American naivete, or maybe I'm a goodie-two-shoes assuming Americans follow this law more willingly, but the company has a really strict seatbelt policy in all its vehicles that they felt was necessarily to really hammer into all our heads more than had ever been necessary in America. There were several very graphic British-made videos shown us of  what happens even if a backseat passenger isn't belted and those in front are. The results weren't pretty. We also got to ride this little contraption called The Convincer, which simulates head-on collisions at 8 and 12 kph, which do give you quite a jolt, even when you know it's coming, and even at such low speeds. 



The Convincer

And now, regarding cuisine:

4. Fried, Pickled, Mayonnaised, or Bust. The ways of preparing food in our cafeteria here are few. They are usually pretty tasty, but there's a very short list of overarching themes governing them. They've managed to fry things here that I would have avoided doing--most significant being the pizza dough. Mayonnaise is a key mixing and bonding agent in what may be hundreds of permutations of different salad ingredients. It's fine in slight moderation (coming from a guy who used to abhor mayonnaise with every ounce of my being), but it's getting to be ridiculous. It also appears in other things I would have avoided doing, like pizza. There are a lot of things pickled here, but I actually like that. It's just unusual for me to see so much other vinaigery goodness.

5. Beef at dinner will come in two general forms, but they have at least 20 names for it. There is either a stew form, which might be Stroganoff or something else (they all taste the same until you pour on the hot sauce), and then there is the ground beef version. I found the ground beef version hilarious, because of all the names they apply to it (sometimes cutlets or meatballs), but it's really just meatloaf shaped like a ball or a turd. Doesn't mean I like it any less, though. I always go back for seconds and thirds (covered in hot sauce).

6. Like the Dave Chappelle-ian "Black people," there is a not "juice," but "drink" in our dining hall. (See Dave Chappelle's standup bit about "Purple Drink.") It's not that there's anything lost in the translation. There is a Russian word for juice that is clearly translatable, but at some point in the juicing process, the juice becomes "drink." Perhaps it's their way of referring to an ade, but they do it with orange and cranberry and cherry and things that are supposed to make juice. It's not a big deal, other than that it makes me think of Purple Drink every time and I smile.

7. The dining hall workers sport a uniform style that I will heretofore refer to as the "Russian Schoolgirl." You all have heard of the Asian or Catholic schoolgirl look, right? White button-up blouse and plaid skirt, yes? Well, the Russian Schoolgirl look is similar except with black skirts, black heals, and black neck-kerchiefs. It looks really classy. In fact, all the Russian woman dress super classy. I really have no idea if schoolgirls in Russia actually wear uniforms like that, but, again, this is just the image that comes to mind. Just keep that mind of the gutter, will you?

So there you have it. Wasn't that fun? In other news, I have now completed the weeklong introductory course known as Oilfield Services 1. It is my first step in a long series of industry-leading training, which brings me back into the classroom. I had excitedly exited academia, sick of that whole establishment, ready to get out into the world and put some knowledge and skills to use. Of course, I end up working for a company that spends a lot of time and money educating me in its own version of school. At least all this is completely applicable to my occupation. The first chunk is full of administrative details, driving school, and safety training, which isn't all that exciting, but eventually we'll get to start working on real engineering problems again, which I must say I've started to miss.

I think this is all I feel like writing at the moment. I'll try to just post shorter blogs more often. No marathons like my first ones for awhile.

Until next time....




OFS-1. Yeah! We're number one!



Honeymoon Phase, SVO-TJM, 13-15 October 2011

The Sheremetyevo Airport D Terminal is far nicer than I had expected from online descriptions of the airport. It’s downright pretty. Upon deplaning, I race up the stairs, avoiding the slow escalator, and attempt to make my way past as many people as I can to get through passport control quickest. Luckily, as it turns out, a great many of the people are heading to domestic connections, and I then turn left at a fork in the corridor that only a couple people follow. I have a Robert Frost moment briefly, and then I reach the tollbooth-like passport desks. Most of them are labeled “Russian Passports” except for two on the end, which have no lines. It’s nice to have flown in on a Russian airline, crowd-wise.

The Passport Control officer doesn’t speak or smile or do anything that could discern him from a robot as I hand him my passport and immigration documents, smile (to match my picture), and say, “hello.” He goes back and forth between my main page, my visa page, and my migration card, putting each one under a scanner, scrutinizing every detail, gazing up at me, and never opening his mouth or changing his facial expression. I stop smiling.

After finally being cleared to cross the threshold into baggage claim, I then find myself waiting more and more patiently as almost everyone else receives their luggage. I have a knack for getting luggage near the end, but it’s more worrisome when I’m more than 6000 miles from when it was last supposed to be. It also switched airlines and had to move from the extreme southeast of the airport to the far northwest of the runways. Luckily, it comes out at the end, and I am free to meet my driver, who by now has waited at least an extra hour for me.

The driver looks startled to see me. I guess he was getting close to giving up after waiting so long. He holds out his hand and I assume I should shake it, but actually he just wants to take my luggage. Oh well, I tried to be nice. I start apologizing for making him wait so long but he smiles back in way that signals he doesn’t really understand what I’m saying. He has a stereotypical Russian look to him—I can’t really describe it any other way. He also has huge hands, which command the steering wheel like a champ, which I will quickly learn one must do to avoid an accident in Moscow.

The driving experience was just a hair shy of insane. On the road/highway leading up to the airport, there is either a lack of parking lot/garage space, or people don’t want to pay for parking, and there’s no law against parking on the shoulder. Maybe it wasn’t a highway and maybe that’s just the way parking is (it seemed to happen a lot from what I observed since), but cars were everywhere, and people were crossing the road back and forth. Turn signals are also rarely used for switching lanes, and people will switch lanes so suddenly that it’s scary. There was a lot of fast braking, both for pedestrians and vehicles. I now understand why Schlumberger’s first course is about defensive driving. I’m still crossing my fingers that the vehicles provided will be automatics. I never got the chance to really practice stick-shifts.

The drive takes us through a “quick” survey of Moscow, starting near the airport where there are some big dilapidated buildings reminiscent of parts of Detroit, followed by some very beautiful homes in upscale neighborhoods. We follow this long, aimless wooded road that is like a New England country road. We eventually reach the main city itself, as the buildings rise up around us and the traffic slows. “Moscow traffic. Problem, problem,” my driver says, in the longest “sentence” he’s uttered since the airport. I have a fun time watching the plethora of different buildings go by, trying to guess which buildings were built before 1917, during the Communist Era, or after 1990. It was actually pretty easy to tell. We eventually reach my hotel, the Renaissance Hotel, Monarch Center. It is quite classy. After checking in, I go to my room and discover that I’m really starting to like this whole “provided by the company” thing.

I head back to the lobby with my laptop, because the wi-fi is free down there, and I happen to meet Jeff, a fellow American in my OFS-1 class who will also be joining me in Drilling and Measurement in Krasnoyarsk. We decide to go find Sarah, the third American, who I knew already from the interview process and the mutual experience of being barred from entering Angola and waiting unknowingly for several months.

After eventually all meeting back in the lobby, we stroll out to get some food. We had searched the pamphlets in the lobby for something good to do but did not have all that much luck, save for one that said, “The Best of Moscow Night Life.” It turned out to be mostly for gentleman’s clubs, escort services, and an erotic, all nude beauty salon...

I realize I’m the only one who has figured out the Cyrillic alphabet, so I’d be responsible for reading each place we passed to try to figure out what it is. We pass an Uzbekistani restaurant, and I wonder what it’s like, but it’s on the other side of the really busy street, so we choose a little basement café that leaves our clothes smelling of smoke. It has a very diverse menu for how big it is. There is also a statuette of Laurel and Hardy on the counter, which seals the deal for me. After attempting to order several things and being told by our waitress that it’s not possible at the moment, I settle on a “Cordon Bleu” and it ends up being pretty good.  

We head back to the hotel and call it a night, because we are all exhausted. I decide to get the internet for my room so I can catch up on this week’s shows on Hulu, only to learn that Hulu can only stream in the US and Japan. Bugger. This really throws a monkey wrench into my newfound following of about 15 different shows as of this season (not that work won’t). Luckily, I brought a Kindle. I eventually try to sleep, but for some reason I can’t even though I stayed awake since leaving Boise. Excitement or over-active adrenal glands, maybe? I manage only an hour or two before waking up at 3 AM, worried that if I fall back asleep for good and really get comfortable, I’ll oversleep through the morning appointment to get our work permits and finish up other legal paperwork. So I stay awake.

In the morning, we meet the three other new hires that will be in our OFS-1 class, a Mexican, a Nigerian, and a Saudi Arabian. We all pile into a shuttle van and go on our winding way through the confusingly complicated roadway network of Moscow. After a while, it seems as if we’re going in circles, because many of the buildings look the same and we keep crossing the river. It turns out that the river just winds a lot through the city. We reach the non-descript FMS office, where we get the VIP treatment by getting called to the front of the line (eliciting looks from several surly-looking men) and into the office where we sign this massive registry and receive our work permits. I’m really starting to get used to all this personal attention, but Jeff says that they call this the “Honeymoon Phase.” I silently hope that I never have to deal with a divorce phase…

After obtaining our snazzy new work permits, we are ferried to the Schlumberger Moscow offices, in a cool commercial and shopping center called Metropolis, which also houses offices for Hewlett Packard and some other international oil firms. I can’t find the Justice League headquarters, though... We are taken to a small break room at the corner of two hallways, with glass walls that make us feel like we were in a fishbowl. Some of the employees enter as well, and we finally get to put faces to the names of people with whom we had been in contact regarding visa applications. We sign our final pieces of paperwork to make us feel like we are officially employees and legal residents, and then we are set free for the day.

After our driver returns us to the hotel, we reconvene and decide to take the Metro to Red Square. After all, we can’t have come all this way and spend two nights in Moscow not to at least see the most famous, historical portion of the city. We board the green line, which is possibly one of the deepest subway lines I’ve ever been in (see picture of escalator passageway). Each station is unique architecturally, and the trains run surprisingly smoothly compared to other large subways I’ve ridden.

We reach our destination and then break out the cameras. Red Square, Lenin’s Tomb, St. Basil’s, the Kremlin… everything I know about Moscow is here. Speaking of the Kremlin, am I the only person who pictures something like this image whenever I hear the word Kremlin?

Horrible Photoshopping, I know. But I was using Microsoft Paint.

All kidding aside, it is definitely a spectacular place. And the buildings are about the cleanest kept things we see in any part of Moscow. There is a bunch of scaffolding set up in the square for some sort of large event, possibly involving Putin. Or maybe it is just a rock concert, where Putin is the main event, blasting out a mean guitar solo with no shirt on…

Behold St. Basil’s:

Me and Basil

The Men

Unfortunately, we picked the day that it was closed, so we take an excursion to the massive shopping center, GUM, that resides on the square opposite of the Kremlin. It’s basically a large mall with better architecture.

This times 3

Once we’ve decided that we’ve done enough tourist stuff, we make our way back into the Metro and head to the hotel. I’m super tired, but I want to work out before bed, because I haven’t done so in several days. The hotel has a really nice fitness center, and I set about doing my usual routine, but can only get through 6 sets before I decide that my body hates me and I should just shower and go to bed. It’s not even 6 pm, but I have to wake up at 3:30 for our flight and I want to make sure I can actually sleep. Sure enough, I pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I wake up before 3:30 and am able to get everything packed pretty easily. I head downstairs and check out, and then the four of us who happen to have the same flight to Tyumen all pile into the same van. For once, the traffic isn’t bad, and we make it to the airport within a half-hour. We’re back at Sheremetyevo Terminal D. We get to go through security twice here—there’s a metal detector and x-ray machine at the entrance to the terminal as well as the standard security checkpoint before the gates. I’m excited to head toward “Domestic Check-in,” because I’m pretty sure this is my first time ever flying domestic in another country.

This plane is an A319 and it’s a lot better looking on the inside than the last Aeroflot plane. The seats were a nice royal blue color, rather than the burnt orange of the other plane. The flight was less than half-filled, and I didn’t see anyone in first class. Jeff and I both had entire rows to ourselves. I kicked myself because I forgot to give the man at the check-in desk my Delta Skymiles number, which should have gotten me a free upgrade to first class because of my Elite status I had just attained on the way to Moscow. It was okay, though, because I still had plenty of room, and the flight attendants gave us plenty of attention. The flight was only 2 hours and 40 minutes, which would have managed us just a drink and maybe a packet of peanuts in the US, but we got a full meal and several passes from the drinks cart. We also had the signature Aeroflot cup holders again!

The Tyumen airport is a bit less advanced than Sheremetyevo. There are no jet ways, and I’m not even sure how much there is of an actual passenger terminal. For a city of a million people, it’s weird to see such a small airport. The Boise Airport is bigger than this. I guess we are pretty spoiled in the US. After deplaning, we hop on a bus that ends up taking us less than 200 yards to the baggage claim area. I’ve walked much further in other airports. I guess they didn’t trust anybody to be walking out on the tarmac. The baggage claim is quick and simple, at least, since the bags are being put on the conveyor just outside the room in which we’re collecting them. There is also a lady who checks your luggage tag against your ticket to make sure you’ve taken the proper bag before you can leave the building. I like the idea, but it’s really annoying.

We pile back into another shuttle van, joined by an Azerbaijani reservoir engineer in town for some other training classes. He speaks Russian, so he can actually guide us through what to do when the Russian driver drops us off at the Russian-speaking security point. After about a half hour drive along a tree-lined road away from town, the blue and white modern complex of the Siberian Training Center emerges, complete with its own drilling rig. The Center is only a couple years old and sits by itself in a large field, sticking out like whatever the good version of a sore thumb is. At the security checkpoint, we once again hand over our documents and get our little welcome envelopes with our key cards.

We head to our cottages to unpack. The accommodations are very slick. Each cottage has 18 rooms and each room has its own bathroom and TV. Everything seems very empty and quiet, because it’s Saturday afternoon. The rooms are superheated, because the heaters are all left on, even though it isn’t very cold out yet. After opening some windows, I set about unpacking my luggage. It doesn’t take very long. Now I wait for classes to begin on Monday.

Sunset over the cottages.

Here Goes Something: BOI-LAX-SVO, 12-13 October 2011

Well, after creating a blog many months ago, I am finally providing you, Oh Lovely Reader, with material that you may or may not actually care to read. At least it’s something, and now you have the opportunity to possibly consider turning down what I have in store for you. Whether I keep up with this for more than a month is uncertain, but I’ve had enough people tell me they want updates on my life from Russia, and they threatened to inform Border Patrol that I’m not fit to return to the country and should remain in Siberia until the end of time... Thus, enter Kyle’s World into the blogosphere. I hope you enjoy it.

To make a long story short, I’m going to introduce my adventure in rhyme, because Dr. Seuss knew how to make a story just long enough:

Back in the year twenty ten,

I was looking for good jobs, and then

Schlumberger Company offered me

A lifetime opportunity.

They said I would go to Angola,

And hopefully not get ebola.

I’d drill for oil offshore.

I’d learn Portuguese, dodge landmines, and more.

In July, it soon became clear,

Angola was no longer near.

The visa laws had changed for the worse.

I felt like I’d been left in the dirt.

So I waited patiently for the word

That my pleas for a great job had been heard.

It took until August to say

That I’d be going to Russia someday.

A week ago my Visa was approved

It’s surprising how fast I’ve now moved.

My journey was rapidly booked.

New emails for me every time I looked.

And here I am. Look, a plane! Yes, this is the obligatory airport/travel portion of my blog.

I was really proud of myself, managing to fit my next 3 years’ worth of clothing into a large duffle bag and my backpacking pack, as pictured.

The majority of my packing was finished, so I drowned my excitement in free booze, courtesy of trivia (Booze Clues) at Pengilly’s Saloon in Boise (free drinks for correct answers). Some friends came along, and it wasn’t until most of them left that I remembered I brought my camera. So I got pictures with just a couple remaining folks.

Much to my chagrin, we lost the trivia game by one question. I had hoped to go out with a bang, but luckily I was too excited to be starting my next great adventure that I just said, “Screw it! I’m leaving! Mwahahahaha!!!” Pengilly’s denizens will deny that I did an evil laugh, but that’s because I had put a curse on all of them upon my departure. It’s like the Bambino curse when Babe Ruth left the Red Sox. Pengilly’s will never be the same…

My first flight went off without a hitch, United from BOI to LAX. Of course, they drop me in Terminal 8, which is as far as can be from my gate in the Bradley International Terminal. And leave it to LAX to be the only airport I can recall that lacks moving sidewalks in the lengthy corridors between terminals. I naively thought I could navigate the length of the airport within the confines of security, but no. Once one leaves the confines of the United Terminals, one must leave security and re-enter at the next terminal.

After a pleasant walk outside in sunny (and not so smoggy) Los Angeles, I arrived at the far superior experience known as the International Terminal—one of those “crossroads of the world” experiences usually reserved for locales that are nowhere near Los Angeles. After finding the Aeroflot Check-In desks and dazzling the airline employee with my soon-to-be-a-baller-Russian-but-still-speaking-like-an-eager-American-ness, I grabbed some lunch at the world’s hub of authentic East-Asian cuisine: Panda Express. The orange chicken was tasty as always, and I kind of liked my fortune. Here’s a picture of it.

Of course, the last thing I need right now—while trying to rock my job and become an employee worthy of being flown halfway around the world—is to be seeking love. But hey, at least now I know I don’t have to worry about never finding it, because the fortune said so. It came from Panda, so it must be true!

My gate is at the far northern end of the Bradley Terminal, among a chunk of gates that are just doors out to buses that will take us to the plane. It seems that, until current construction on the extraordinarily spacious Bradley West expansion ends, people will still have to be bused to some of the flights. I guess when you’re a terminal that’s basically only serving wide-bodied and jumbo aircraft, as the West’s gateway to the Pacific, it’s just hard to fit them all side-by-side. Our bus took us nearly a runway’s length away to the far west end of the LAX property and I discovered that they have what I will call "jetway islands:" small buildings with an entrance, a two-story ramp, and a jetway, whose sole purpose is get people from the ground to the plane without stairs. Maybe they’re actually pretty common, but I don’t recall ever using one. Not as cool as the Dulles Airport “plane mates” but still worthy of note.

Welcome to Aeroflot, Russian Airlines, I tell myself as I board the A330 and think that I must’ve stepped into a University of Texas fan plane. All the seats are this really ugly burnt orange color similar to that of UT. I find it strange because the airline’s (and nation’s flag’s) colors are red, white, and blue. Like the Dutch, whose flag is also red, white, and blue but all their national pride is orange-colored, I guess there’s just something about the color orange. Or they could just be reusing old seats from older aircraft, and they actually used to be red but have faded considerably. I hope it’s the former.

The flight is scheduled to be nearly 12 hours. We managed to depart a half-hour late, because (I conjecture) there is no boarding zone methodology to help expedite the tedious enplaning process, not to mention many of the Russians had gone all Black Friday discount shopper on Duty Free store items that they couldn’t figure out how to stow. I had also wrongly guessed that the other reason for the plane being way out in its current tarmac location was that it would be closer to the end of one of the northern runways for a nice west-to-east takeoff, saving time and energy on taxiing. We proceeded to head south and taxi the entire length of the airport only to take off westward from one of the south runways. Silly runway and takeoff protocol… just a tad bit inefficient methinks. What’s really cool as that they have a nose-cone camera that default broadcasts to all the passenger TV monitors, so we could watch a bird's-eye-view of the takeoff.

My favorite thing about Aeroflot is probably a tossup between the fine cuisine and the cup holders (pictured below). Why bring down your entire tray table if you just want to have a drink? It’s genius, I tell ya! Pure genius!

I also cannot recall having a pair of economy class airplane meals as good as what Aeroflot served for dinner and “brunch.” At least not in the post-9/11 airline climate. Shrimp and smoked salmon, shrimp tortellini, beef stew, salad, and the most significant (and pretty) airline desserts I’ve ever seen. Yummy. I tried to be a good kid and order water, but the flight attendant kept suggesting wine. What’s a poor boy to do?

Interestingly, the great circle route between LA and Moscow spends a significant portion of time flying over Idaho. I giggled to myself to see Moscow, Idaho show up on the inflight route map while en route to Moscow. I wondered if anyone else noticed.

I had a window seat. Therefore, I took some inflight pictures and I also didn’t go to the bathroom for the whole flight. Yes, I held it for twelve hours. It’s just something I do when I have a window seat. Plus the lady next to me was trying to sleep for most of the flight, and I was also pretty dehydrated anyway.

And here are some pictures. I had stowed my camera for the descent and didn’t get any pictures of Moscow, which looked pretty cool from the air.

Sunrise over the Norwegian Sea

Sweden and the Baltic Sea, having officially gone further east than I ever have before

I really don’t know what I expected Moscow to look like from the air. There were, of course, the countless blocks of high-rise apartments. But there were also some very nice-looking residential neighborhoods. The leaves were changing on the trees and the winding Moscow River looked clean and blue. A nuclear power plant billowed steam and those very European red and white striped smoke stacks were spewing. I wondered how much of the day’s cloudiness was due to industrial output. I could also see the spindly Ostankino tower, the tallest building in Russia.

When we landed at Sheremetyevo Airport, a significant portion of the passengers applauded. I learned that this was and sometimes still is quite customary on a lot of East European airlines or after significantly turbulent flights. It harkens back to the days of communist rule and discount or dated aircraft, when a smooth trip was rarely the norm.

I had now touched down in the country I will be calling home for the next three years.

Here goes something…