KHL: Lupul's Lockout Diary

NHL Star Joffrey Lupul On Life In The Russian Leagues

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Day 1

The Flights

I'm guessing the majority of you have never been and are probably never planning to go to Yekaterinburg, Russia. Luckily for you, I am going to blog about my stay here as a non-Russian-speaking Canadian who has never even thought about living in Eastern Europe. Culture shock is putting it mildly.L.A. to Toronto: Stayed at home in Toronto for one night. Enough time to unpack from six months in Cali and repack a bag full of my warmest clothes.

Toronto to London, London to Moscow: Upon landing and waiting at baggage claim I came to realize that my hockey sticks were not coming out. This has happened to everyone — it sucks. Where does it suck more? Moscow (especially when you can't speak or read Russian).

Security-camera footage on me at the lost-baggage counter would be quite the keepsake. No one spoke English and all claim forms were in Russian and it kind of seemed like everyone was mad at me. (I have since realized people speaking in Russian always sound like they're mad. Even when they're really happy.)

After about 40 minutes, I weighed my options and decided that losing eight hockey sticks was a far less stressful situation than missing my flight to Yekaterinburg. Best case is they turned up and some kids are now playing street hockey with them in Red Square. Worst case — and much more likely — you can probably find them on eBay right now.



First Practice

After about 15 hours of sleep, I woke up and was ready to go practice with my new team. I didn’t know how the guys were gonna react to me joining their team 20-some games into the season. To my surprise, when I got in the dressing room, every guy came up to me and shook my hand. I thought that was pretty cool and felt better instantly. I mentioned that to a fellow Canadian, goaltender Chris Holt, and he burst my bubble, telling me it's Russian hockey tradition that all players shake hands in the morning when they arrive. This is actually pretty awesome.Practice itself was long, and I had no clue what the hell I was doing. Drills are a lot different here and everything is explained in Russian, so I just stayed at the back of the line and tried to enjoy myself. It worked out. I went for lunch with a couple of the guys after practice, and I picked up the tab, which, I have learned over my years, is a surefire way to make friends on a new team. This is universal.

That’s it for today. I'll get back on here in a couple days and write a little more about the Russian culture, food and how the streets are really icy here and people are falling down constantly. Oh, yeah, I'm off to a team karaoke party right now at some local bar (this has the makings of a blog entry in its own).



Day 10: Drinking With Alexei

Just sitting down on a 12-hour train ride from Yekaterinburg to Omsk. My teammates are on the ice playing right now in Kazakhstan. Why am I not there? Good question. I think I have it figured out. Initially I thought that I did not have the proper visa for Kazakhstan, but one of my very astute Twitter followers informed me that Kazakhstan immigration allows Canadians without visas to freely enter their country (I checked this out and it’s true). The real problem, I believe, lies in the fact that once I enter Kazakhstan, they are afraid that I may not be able to enter back into Russia. Although I like my new team and I would love to be on the ice right now, the chance of spending a couple of days in a Russian or Kazakhstani prison was a risk I was not willing to take.

When originally applying for my visa, I assumed that once in Eastern Europe, you could travel freely from country to country — that’s how it works everywhere else I have been in Europe. That is most definitely not the case here. Rules of travel between these countries are very strict (as I am finding out).

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So I paused my blog after that last paragraph to go to the food cart for dinner. While at the food cart, I ate borscht and had — what I am hoping was — chicken. This is where things gets a little better. I hung out with a guy there who spoke a tiny — and I mean tiny — bit of English. Alexei was a big hockey fan, and he suggested we have a drink “of Russian vodka.” I obliged because I really was not in a place to say no and also I have not even had a sip of vodka since I have been here.

I justified it as a cultural experience.