26th September: The Real Russians

This week has been the first time I’ve felt like I’ve actually had some time at ‘home’. Things are starting to settle down here, mostly due to the fact that a lot of people are coming down with the first lot of illnesses of the term, which were inevitably going to start spreading sooner or later. I’ve spent the majority of my time catching up on emails and work, booking plane tickets and transfers, and watching bits of Russian TV (dubbed-over Hannah Montana is particularly worth watching, purely on a level of morbid fascination). I also tried another gym class to help me decide which one to sign up for next month. Apparently, all the university clubs are starting in mid-October too – but I’ll believe it when I see it.

After the long and complicated process of trying to agree on flights that were convenient and cheap enough, my parents and I finally managed to book them for Friday and Tuesday – hopefully the perfect amount of time for me to see everyone at home but not get too homesick when I come back. Today, Natasha, who works in the university’s International Relations Office, let me print off my flight itinerary and went with me to the travel agency across the road to book my airport transfers – which was above and beyond the call of duty. She even lent me the 2600r (£52) that the agency needed in cash to make the booking. It’s true what they say about Russians – they’re not good with strangers, but once they know you they’ll do everything they can to help you out.

When I arrived home I had yet another successful conversation with my hoz (the nickname we’ve developed for our хозайки, or landlords) in which I told her all my plans for the next few days and tried a bit more banter. My tentative request for a bit of food to take with me on Friday, which I had been debating, was a success; she told me brightly that she would get me a roll and some fruit. Result! I really do think she wants to look after me now, even if she is a bit tight with money (see the washing episode). Almost every morning I come into the kitchen to another variety of cereal; I get given the pies and jams that she makes; and she was the person who advised me that the маршрут was the best form of airport transfer and helped me research it on the Internet. On Sunday evening, when I didn’t get in until almost 11pm, having told her I’d be back at 7, I’d been worried she hadn’t got my messages and calls and had cooked me dinner. But she had got my text and was grateful I’d let her know, and said she’d actually been worried when I was even later than expected and had been about to call me herself.

This afternoon I went to meet some of the girls we’d met at the Russian school, who’d contacted me the day before. They helped me choose a Russian book from the shop, as I’d decided now would be the best time to buy heavy things, as I could easily take them back with me. After that we went to a café; they were speaking English, and I Russian, so it was all good practice. Even though they’re young, they’re nice people to spend time with and it’s a great way for us all to improve.

My packing is done and now I have the evening to myself. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that I’m going to be home in a couple of days, and I keep getting pangs of excitement just thinking about it. Will won’t be there (he’s gone to the Seychelles now) and nor will most of my friends, but seeing my mum and the rest of my family is going to be so amazing. One more day to go!

24th September: A Tiring Weekend

Finally, the news that I’ve been waiting for! Today I found out that I can get a multi-entry visa; I’m going home! I’d been waiting for news all last week, but only over the past two days had it begun to hit me that I might actually be unable to get back for the funeral. The weekend had been busy but even that wasn’t enough to take my mind off it and get me out of my funk. On Saturday I was exhausted from the night before and would have spent the whole day wallowing in my room had it not been for the shopping trip I took with Alexia, which provided a welcome distraction.

We’d planned to go to the big Вернисаж shopping centre on the outskirts of town to get Alexia a thick winter coat, which she would definitely need soon, judging by the sudden change in the weather. We were quite pleased with ourselves when we managed to find and get on the right bus, but suspected something was up when we noticed we were getting further and further into the Russian countryside – otherwise known as the middle of nowhere. When we came to the end of the line we asked the conductor where on earth this shopping centre was, at which point she and the driver fell about in fits of laughter. We had got the right bus – just in completely the wrong direction.

Luckily for us, we’d managed to entertain the bus staff so much that they offered to drive us back the other way for no extra charge. We imagined their dinner-time conversations that night, telling their families about some stupid English girls who’d gone out into the sticks to find a shopping centre. As it was getting late, we didn’t want to risk making any more mistakes (which we surely would) by carrying on all the way to the Вернисаж, so jumped off at the other shopping centre, Рио, which was on the route back. We didn’t manage to find any coats there but did meet a slightly overly-friendly Russian guy called Dennis (who ended up asking us to play table hockey and offering us a lift home) and I got to experience all the different branches under the Zara franchise.

Unfortunately, the happiness provided by the purchase of a new pair of jeans is notoriously transient and the next day I woke up in the same dark mood, still exhausted because, as usual, I hadn’t slept through the night – and the 8am alarm didn’t help. At 9am I met Beth, Sean and Alexia by the university and we took the trolleybus to the central train station, where we were meant to be catching a 9.40 bus to Kostroma with another group. However, it turned out that the bus didn’t go from there at all, so we had to get the элекропоезд (electric train), which wasn't leaving until 12.40. Having already bought tickets and not wanting to waste the day, we whiled away the next two hours in the McDonald’s across the street.

When we finally got to Kostroma at 2.30 that afternoon, the sun had gone in and the sky was dark. Nevertheless, we made our way into the centre of town (on a trolleybus that cost only 12r – 4r less than in Yaroslavl!) then took a маршрут to the famous monastery. There, all the girls were told we had to put on a headscarf to cover our hair, and a strange wrap-around skirt over our jeans. We toured the monastery in true babushka style and saw the Romanov exhibit and beautiful cathedral. We headed over to Kostroma’s other main attraction, the wooden architecture museum, under a heavy downpour but managed to see the majority of the strange outdoor exhibition, showcasing wooden buildings and carvings of the Soviet era. Then it was time to make our way back into town, where we grabbed a quick pizza before taking the train home.

On the journey home, our loud English voices made us the main attraction and soon the Russian passengers were taking it in turns to come over and talk to us. The first guy was the closest I’ve seen to a Russian chav, a rapper who played us recordings he had made and told us about a Russian rapper who had gone to Oxford and made his fortune in Knightsbridge. The next was a break-dancer, who couldn’t wait to show us his videos of him dancing, and the next was a guy Alexia and Joe had met the other night in Cocktail Bar. When he told us the return train was three hours and not two, we couldn’t hold back our outrage and the whole train broke down in fits of laughter at us. It was a relief when I finally got back home and collapsed into bed, and even though it had been a bit of a disaster I was glad I’d stuck the day out and not given up when we’d missed the first bus. I’d got to see another town on the Golden Ring and spent some time with my mates, and what was there to regret about that?

22nd September: Just Another Week

I’ve successfully reached the end of another week, and this time it’s gone even faster than the weeks before. I haven’t had chance to stop and take a breath since I last wrote on Wednesday, but I’m happy that way; being busy is what I do best.

A group of us had planned to meet at the local café Кафеин on Wednesday evening to watch some live Jewish music that was meant to be going on there, according to Stanislav, the saxophonist we’d met at the jazz concert the previous Thursday. However, when we got there it turned out to have nothing to do with Jewish music and was more of a general jam session for musicians and poets – a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Amongst the musicians was Stanislav himself on tenor sax and sometimes on piano and couple of guitarist-vocalists. The music ranged from jazz standards to traditional Russian folk music, and the poems, which were written by the speakers themselves, were (from what we could tell) profound and often political. When Stas asked our group if we knew any English poems to recite, we were all horrified and said no, of course we didn’t – all apart from Ed, that is, who confidently went up to the mic and recited the whole of Jaberwocky by heart. After the musicians had drifted off at the end of the night, Stas came up to chat again and soon discovered that Ed and I were musical. Within minutes, Ed was impressing us all on the piano and I was having a go at singing anything Stas could play that I vaguely new the words to. He said that we should learn something and come and join the jam next time.

On Thursday I went to another musical event, this time at completely the other end of the spectrum. The chamber orchestra concert for which Lyudmila had reserved tickets was that evening, so at 6pm we went to the end of the road to meet Sean, as arranged. It was 6pm on the dot when Lyudmila began to complain about Sean’s lateness, and by 6.05 she was indignant, declaring that it was ‘unacceptable’ for a man to keep a woman waiting. Not wanting to further upset Anglo-Russian relations, I suggested that we begin walking in the hope that Sean would phone as soon as he realised we weren’t there, as his mobile was constantly engaged. However, as we were approaching the crossing, who should appear but Sean himself. Turns out, he hadn’t understood when I’d said “meet at the памятник,” and had just assumed I meant the kiosks at the top of the road. Never mind, crisis had been averted and within minutes he was charming Lyudmila into forgiving him.

The concert hall was smaller than we’d expected but nevertheless a decent-sized theatre and large enough for the concert, with tiered seating and a large stage. The décor was ornate but subtle, and everyone was dressed up for the event, making it seem like a proper occasion. At first there was a long string of presentations to the Yaroslavl musicians, as it was the opening night of the Yaroslavl philharmonic season. Just when we were beginning to wonder if the concert would ever begin, the Moscow Chamber Orchestra and its famed conductor were announced, and they launched into a lively piece of Mozart. The programme, which included a cello concerto played by the talented conductor, was varied and interesting, and in the second half even included two vocalists, who sang solos and duets in German and Italian.

After the concert, Lyudmila and her sister were beaming and it seemed the night had been a big success. Now, to top it off, there was to be a free open-air concert at the bandstand in the street outside. Lyudmila and her sister left as it was getting late and there was a chill in the air, but Sean and I were intrigued. After a few more awards, various motley crews of musicians took turns to take to the stage and play Russian folk music to an enthusiastic crowd. The music was mostly in the lively Soviet style, and the way the audience clapped along was strange, on the first and third beats, almost military-style, just as during the Chamber Orchestra concert their applause had been a steady military pulse and not at all like the general applause we give in England. It had been all I could do to stop Sean chanting, “Soviet Union” and “Lenin”.

The next day was yet another busy one. That afternoon a group of us visited a typical Russian state school with pupils ranging from six to seventeen years old. When we arrived, three resolute-looking twelve-year-olds were waiting to give us a tour and practice their English, which was dishearteningly accurate compared to our Russian. We soon learnt that children here often started English as early as nursery-age – so it was no wonder that these girls could speak it to such a high standard. We were then led into a classroom where groups of anxious-looking students were to meet us and to ask and answer questions in English. Most were very shy to speak, but all were enthusiastic about English culture and seemed desperate to be able to go there and experience it for themselves.

After that we were led into the dining hall, where we were ‘given’ tea and cake which we were then expected to pay for – but the Year 10 Russian girls who had come to chat to us quickly footed the bill without us realising. We exchanged phone numbers with the headmistress and promised to stay in touch, in the hope that we might be able to come and help out there. The girls took us back to the маршрут, a method of transport that can only be described as a really crap bus. It’s a private transport system on what is essentially a converted minibus with standing space, where everyone pays 18r and can dictate stopping points along a designated route.

We discovered on the way that the girls had come out of their way especially to be able to spend time with us, so it felt rude to say that we were in a rush to get ready for the hockey match and didn’t have time. We managed to squeeze in an hour and a half and walked with them along the banks of the Volga, which a lot of the English people hadn’t seen before. The girls were really enthusiastic to try out their English and seemed really interested in everything we had to say. When the time came to part ways, we swapped numbers and said we would definitely meet up again.

An hour later we were on our way to the ice hockey match at Arena 2000, where the newly-reformed Yaroslavl Локомотив (Locomotive) team was up against the formidable Moscow Спартак team. Our seats, which we had managed to get last minute, had been expensive by Russian standards (500r, £10), but were front row and right next to the Locomotive team bench. The atmosphere in the arena was incredible, with only two stands of heavily-policed Moscow fans and the rest filled with enthusiastic home fans there to give their new team some much-needed support. Before the match began, a memorial song was played in memory of the team who had died in the plane crash the year before. After the national anthem, the game began – three twenty-minute blasts with fifteen-minute intervals in between. The ice hockey is a huge event here, with loud music and cheerleaders between plays, dramatic lighting and huge screens showing the match and the words to the chants, which the fans passionately repeat. The end result was 4-2 to us, and the atmosphere was explosive. At the end of the game, the word молоцы (well done) appeared in huge letters on the screens and was shouted eagerly by all the home fans. Finally I had found something the Russians were able to get excited about.

After the game we found Yana and Akob, who took the trolleybus (a bus-metro hybrid) with us to the centre of town, where we met the others from the university at Cocktail Bar. Just after midnight we all headed over to Мёд (Honey), an elite club on the Volga, where Yana and Akob had secured us free tickets. It was another amazing night and we left at 4am – the perfect end to the week.

19th September: Strange Russian Ways

It was a struggle to get out of bed yesterday morning, but I’m glad I did; finally, a huge bowl of the Russian equivalent of Cornflakes was sitting waiting for me on the breakfast table! Of course, being Russian, any chance they had had of being healthy had been taken away by the huge amounts of sugar that had obviously gone into them, but nevertheless they were almost the same and it was incredibly sweet of Lyudmila to put in the effort to find them for me.

The Russian Cornflakes also served the extra purpose that day of taking the edge off the sickly feeling I had after getting in at 4.30 that morning from a night that had turned out to be much bigger than expected. I hadn’t really planned to go out at all, not having booked a place at the meal for David’s birthday, but had decided at the last minute it would be nice to go and meet everyone. So we met at the Red Steak Bar, where they were having trouble paying (turns out, the prices had been per 100g!) and went on to Этажи, where Rob had reserved us a table and bought bottles of vodka and coke for everyone to share, and finally on to Your Бар, where we bought a table between us again and got food and drinks for free all night.

The night had been amazing but the next day, not so much. Only about seven people turned up to lectures and four of those hadn’t been out. After lectures, I had to try and sort out my visa to change it to multiple entry so I could go back home for a few days for the funeral. The international office was sceptical that I’d be able to get it done in time but promised they would do their best. As well as the usual photographs (matt only) and application forms, this time I needed a document proving the reason I needed to return. After ascertaining that email was not an option and explaining to the disbelieving office staff that telegrams were no longer in use in England, I agreed to get the death certificate faxed over as soon as possible.

When I finally got home I managed to take a long nap before heading back over to the university to finish the application process. The fax from my mum had arrived successfully and all that was left to do was to give in my photos and fill out the application form, which, with all my names and addresses having to be transcribed into Russian, was not as easy as it sounds. Then I just had to wait to hear the result.

At 6 o’clock I managed to drag myself out the house to the Dance Fit Mix class at the fitness studio, which I hoped would make me feel better rather than worse. I was glad I took the risk because, apart from the spontaneous splits we were asked to do, I coped much better than I thought I would and discovered I’m not actually an awful dancer after all. It seems to me that Russian women are a lot more fitness-conscious than we are, particularly in terms of being supple, and dance as a form of keeping fit is a lot more common here. Whereas you would go to a fitness studio in England and see a lot of chubby people trying to get fit, here it seems like women are expected to be in shape and that going to these dance-exercise classes is just a way of maintaining that.

When I returned, Lyudmila was preparing my dinner and we had a chat about my exercise class and how her day had been. She asked me if it was normal in England for girls to stay out until 4.30am, because she found it very strange, as Russian girls would apparently never do that. She’s already called me a гулянка for going out so much, so I had suspected this question might be coming. In a way, I can see her point as I am out nearly every night and had stayed out till past 3.30 on Thursday, Friday and Monday. But on the other hand it does make me wonder what Russian girls do if they don’t go out at night? Maybe this is just what she thinks, as she doesn’t know any young people?

Changing the subject, I asked her if Sean could meet us at the house before the chamber orchestra concert on Thursday but for some reason she seemed reluctant, and eventually it was agreed that he could meet us by the statue at the end of the road. I couldn’t quite work out why he wasn’t allowed to meet us at the house, or even outside the gates, but I know better than to ask as most of the time the answer to questions like these is just that the Russians can be a bit odd. I also asked her if I could use the washing machine the next day, but she seemed disapproving of this too. Sometimes she seems negative about the most bizarre things, but then I ask if everything’s ok and she smiles and says of course, so maybe it’s just her way. I said that I would pay to wash my clothes, of course (the university had told us to expect to pay 120r per wash), and it turned out she was just concerned that it might rain, but I said that wasn’t a problem, I would just wash them another day. However, she insisted that she would wash them, and I knew better than to argue with her, formidable old woman that she is.

This morning I left the clothes in a plastic bag as she had asked, and when I returned found all my clothes hanging out to dry on the line. I’d planned to fetch them in myself but before I had chance she had already collected them and delivered them to my room. I paid her with a 500r note as I had nothing smaller, and she returned with only 350r change. Without thinking I said that it wasn’t a problem, I would get the rest of the change later, forgetting that it only amounted to about 60p. She left with a sour expression and returned a couple of minutes later to say that 120r was very cheap, and that I would pay 700r at the Laundromat. Not really knowing how to respond to this, I meekly repeated that the university had told us 120r was the normal rate, but as she started to get irritated I decided that it didn’t really matter and said that of course, 150r was fine. Satisfied, she left the room, and when it was time for dinner she was waiting in the kitchen, telling me with a smile that she had cut me two (huge) pieces of the apple pie she had made that day. She really is impossible to predict.

17th September: Another Day Over

When my alarm woke me at 9.30 on Sunday morning it felt as though I hadn’t slept at all. I had been close to switching it off during one of my fits of wakefulness in the night, but knew I would probably not be able to sleep much longer anyway, and it would be better to get up and make it to the fitness studio rather than staying in the house with little to distract me from my thoughts.

Going to the open day at the fitness studio had helped me get through the day before. I went to four classes in total: salsa, modern dance, yoga and Pilates. When I first turned up my thoughts were in a chaotic spiral, reminding me over and over of everything that would happen now he was gone, of how my nan, my mum, my cousins, aunties and uncles must be feeling. It was all I could do to concentrate on the instructions the trainer was calling out and to mechanically follow the steps, but it was the distraction I needed. Meeting and talking to some friendly Russian girls at the class made me feel slightly more human again, and by the time all the classes were over it was nearly 5 o’clock and it felt like I had survived the day.

That evening, I was able to talk on Skype to my parents for the first time since I had been here. Seeing them and hearing their voices, I was torn between relief at finally being able to feel a bit closer to them and pain at still feeling so far away. The connection failed after ten minutes but we tried again once my mum was at my nan’s. The fleeting glimpse I got of everyone as they crowded around the laptop was enough to remind me of how much I missed them, but with so many voices speaking at once the connection soon gave out. I was able to talk to my cousin for long enough to find out that they were all looking after each other, as I knew they would. Then I was able to talk to my boyfriend for twenty minutes – without video, but just hearing his voice was a comfort. Snuggling up in bed with a favourite film wasn’t enough to take my mind off what I had lost and how far away I was from the people I loved, but it distracted me for a little while at least.

The next day, my classes started at 11 and finished at 1.15, this time being fitness, yoga fit and zumba. I met some more nice Russian people who were, like the girls yesterday, impressed at my level of Russian and surprised that I had chosen to study it and come to Russia. Despite everything, I managed to enjoy the classes and considered that, as well as being good physical exercise they would also be a great way to improve my Russian. I had been about to sign up for a half-month subscription when I realised that this would be senseless as I would miss classes when I went back home for the funeral. Walking home, I contemplated how much it would cost me in the meantime to go to a few classes a week, as any distraction would be welcome and keeping fit seemed as good a way as any.

When a text came through asking me to the cinema I automatically refused, thinking the time would be too tight, but at the last minute changed my mind and managed to wash, dry and straighten my hair, and do my makeup, in half an hour. Watching Finding Nemo 3D (В Поисках Нема 3Д) with some friends would be a great way to take my mind off things and so much better than sitting in alone in my room. And so the day I had dreaded ended up being filled with distractions, and that evening I was almost content in my own company, chatting to friends online, catching up on work and watching strange Russian TV programmes. I had survived the weekend and now it was time for another week, with all the distractions of work, fitness and going out.

15th September: The Shock of the Expected

It’s amazing how something you’ve expected for so long still can still have the capacity to shatter everything you had so carefully built up around yourself to protect yourself from it. I knew when I left for Russia that I would probably never see my Gramps again, and since I’ve been here no one has put me under any illusions that he would be well enough to make it through. Yet, caught up in the everyday reality of living here and surrounding myself with people had almost given me the power to deny it, even when I was getting news proving how real it all really was. This week, I knew he had little time left when I heard that the family were on constant shifts at the hospice, day and night. I jumped at every text message, dreading the worst, but when I heard nothing, somehow the physical distance created in me a capacity to detach myself from the truth.

Now, confronted with the reality, I feel like I’m hearing the news for the first time and am completely and utterly winded by it. The shock was almost like a physical blow and I could feel myself gasping for breath, fighting the nausea that was making me need to vomit right there in the street.

When I saw Ben approaching from the other direction, my relief at seeing someone I knew, someone who I could just cry on unashamedly for just a few minutes, was indescribable. I don’t remember his exact words, all I remember is being so glad that there was someone there who understood. We were still on my road so I let myself be led back home, confused as to what on earth I should do next. To be around people would be painful, but to be alone would be even worse. I decided to clean myself up and go to the fitness centre open day as planned. With this turmoil going on inside my head it would be hard to behave normally in front of strangers, but even harder in front of friends who would surely notice the change. And just imagining spending the afternoon alone in my cold little room was unbearable.

As I went out onto the street for the second time, an elderly lady who had seen me take the phone call approached me, full of concern. She asked me what the matter was and as I explained my voice began to shake and I began to cry again, as though each time I said it out loud made it more real. The lady told me not to cry and that it was a mercy that he was no longer in pain. Of course I know this, but what about all the pain he’s left behind? He was loved so, so much. How are we going to manage without him?

Somehow word must have got around about what has happened because by mid-afternoon I was getting texts and phone calls from concerned friends wanting to show their support. I knew I wouldn’t want to see anyone but just knowing that I had such kind, caring people around me made me feel less isolated and alone. When I returned to the flat and told Lyudmila, she told me the same as the lady on the street and about how she had lost her parents. She told me that birth is the first step towards death, which is true but doesn’t make any more sense out of death itself. But her words were well-meant and she was doing her best to comfort me. She hugged me and told me it was ok if I needed to cry a little. I took a long shower, hoping that the sound of my crying would be buried beneath the hum of the water.

14th September: Бабье лето

So, the much-anticipated Indian summer (or бабье лето, as everyone seems to love reminding us it’s called here) has finally arrived and Yaroslavl has become a different city entirely. The streets are alive with couples, teenagers and young families, and opportunistic ice-cream sellers spontaneously setting up shop on street corners, in parks, on the bustling boulevard along the Volga. If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I would soon be sunbathing in Russia in the middle of September, I would have laughed at their naïve optimism. Turns out, I’m the one who’s been naïve for believing I would be spending the next four months in a constant struggle to stay warm.

When the weather is so beautiful it’s impossible for me to stay indoors. Yesterday Ben and I wandered around the smaller back streets of town to a couple of markets before meeting the others for lunch outside Bristol café, where we sat with drinks, food and shisha. The heat seemed surreal and somehow out of place in this city I’d already branded as categorically grey and cold, so suddenly the day seemed full of opportunities. In the mid-afternoon we broke off into smaller groups and some of us climbed up the belfry of the Kremlin, where we saw stunning views of the city, the rivers and golden tops of the cathedrals glistening blissfully in the sun. I took a different route home, meandering through the suburban streets along the Volga and cutting through the small park near Волжская Набережая until finally conceding that the day was at an end.

That evening, I had been tempted to have a night in, but as there was an African-jazz fusion concert taking place in the concert hall two minutes’ walk from my flat and a group of people were already going, it seemed ridiculous to pass up the opportunity. The group was called the New City Band and was supposed to feature a bass player from Cameroon, but a dep had had to be called in at the last minute as the original player hadn’t managed to secure a visa. The concert was fantastic nevertheless, with two African vocalists, electric piano, drum kit, bongos, bass guitar, soprano/tenor sax and (randomly) a DJ. The whole place had a great vibe to it and was as modern as you’d expect to see in any cosmopolitan European city. Everyone enjoyed it, but particularly Pavel, who surprised us all by making a spectacular show of salsa dancing in the first half. After complimenting him during the interval, I should have seen it coming that in the next set he would get me up to join him in the most energetic salsa dance I’ve ever attempted (which admittedly doesn’t amount to much) – with dips, lifts and everything. At one point I thought he might even attempt the Dirty Dancing lift, but he obviously realised I value my life and limbs a bit too much for that.

As we were leaving I spotted the saxophonist from the band and complimented him on his playing. We got a conversation going and soon a little group of us had gathered, everyone wanting to try out their Russian. He told us about another arts club in Yaroslavl where modern musicians and artists get together to share their work. It seems there’s a lot of culture going on here if you know the right people and know where to look.

After the concert we decided to go on to Your Бар, where we joined some others who hadn’t wanted to see the jazz. Somehow, Rob arranged for the group of eighteen of us to have the whole back section of the bar to ourselves, with free food, drinks and cigarettes all night, for 4000 roubles (£80), which for a group that size is nothing. Within a few minutes champagne had arrived and despite the interesting mix of music, everyone was up for a dance and a laugh. With lessons starting at the usual 9.15 the next day, most people left at around 3am, but it had been a great night.

Today was another warm, sunny day so we ate lunch outside at another of the cafes along Кирова. With a bit of time to myself before it would be cool enough to take a jog, I dozed in the square in front of the council offices. By 4.30 the sun was dying down and there was a cool breeze, so I was able to run for almost an hour, trying out new routes. When I returned home I felt energised and ready for another night out.

I phoned Yana to arrange collecting tickets for the ice hockey match on Sunday, but they are already sold out, it being the first game of the season as well as the long-awaited return of the famous Locomotive team after the catastrophe in 2011. I was quite proud that I had managed a second phone call in Russian, having also phoned up to book tickets for the concert the day before. I’m getting there slowly.

12th September: Here and now

On Monday evening we had planned to meet up as a big group, but it soon became obvious that such a big crowd of English students wasn’t going to get into any of the small bars in Yaroslavl. We ended up splitting into our usual groups, which meant we got to try the much talked-about Your Бар. On entry we had to show our IDs for the first time since being here, and were patted down by the security guard, who inspected my bag suspiciously. Once we were in, the prices were good and we were quite impressed until a brusque waitress approached us and told us we weren’t allowed to sit at a table unless we ordered food, despite the fact that there were several tables in sight where no one was eating. We hoped that she would just forget, but when we came to ask for the bill, she told us angrily that we had to order something to eat first. I explained we had looked at the menu but hadn’t found anything we wanted, and eventually she reluctantly gave us the bill. On Ben’s advice we gave a generous tip so we wouldn’t be barred from going there for the next four months.

After lunch on Tuesday afternoon we went on another futile search for a decent gym, finding that one of them no longer existed and the other charged 7000 roubles a month. On my way home I went down a couple of deceptively long side streets, and by the time I had given up it was past five o’clock and, tired from walking all afternoon, I didn’t think it a good idea to put any more pressure on my knees by going for a run. I planned to catch up on my work and have a relaxing night in.

As ever, my plans were changed when I started getting texts asking me to come out. Two groups were going; one was going to Mojito in a big group; another couple of people going to meet the Russians Yana and Arkob. I decided to take the opportunity to meet with the Russians again, and I’m glad I did. We stayed out till around midnight, when they walked us home again, speaking only in Russian the whole evening. If it’s possible I think my Russian might have improved – if only very slightly – in the week I’ve been here, as I could feel myself gaining confidence and becoming more fluent. Yana and Arkob, who are our age and living in a student house in Yaroslavl, seem down to earth and generous people who are keen to help us out even after the short time we’ve known them.

Today the weather was so nice I was able to brave the outdoors in my shorts and vest-top and go for a run along the Volga. The warmth from the late-afternoon sun was gorgeous and it felt amazing and somehow surreal to be out running in such a place, the sunshine shimmering on the surface of the Volga. It was liberating to be able to go wherever I liked, lost in my thoughts and my surroundings. I only hope there will be more days like this before the snow begins to fall. I have a feeling that things will become very different when the world is covered in snow. That will be when the real challenge begins, but for now I’ll just try and enjoy the here and now.

10th September: No wonder it’s a different universe

Sunday was the first day I’d made no previous plans and even as I woke up it loomed before me, threatening boredom and loneliness.

The previous night had been nice enough; the usual group had met up and gone for a few drinks and shisha in a quiet bar off Kirova, the main street. There hadn’t been many people in but there were enough of us that it didn’t really matter. The waitress was friendly but the communication problems were even more obvious than usual – so much so, that when Sean asked to see a Russian menu, she refused point blank; our Russian was apparently just too bad. It would be easier (she claimed) if we just read the English menu and she wrote it down in Russian. It’s a good job we’ve all got a sense of humour because at that stage I think anyone with a bit of pride or even an instinct for self-preservation would be justified in throwing in the towel there and then.

The problem with the Russians, we’ve noticed, is that they quite often just can’t be bothered to try and understand you or make you understand them. If they say something and you don’t understand, they will usually just repeat the same phrase, at an equally insane pace, and wait impatiently for you to respond. If they don’t understand you, you have approximately three seconds to make yourself understood before they lose interest and either get angry or cast you off as a useless case. I’m sure not all Russians are like this. I am just speaking about the majority you are likely to meet.

The babushkas are, of course, an exception. Mine is still taking care of me like any granny would, and I’m starting to feel like we’re a little team already, despite the fact that she cancelled our city tour today as she felt it was too cold. I can see why she would say so; it is absolutely freezing – but then again, surely she’s used to it by now? I’m beginning to think that she just doesn’t like leaving the house. So far I’ve known her to go outside only three times; once to pick me up when I arrived, once to go food shopping and once to visit her nephew. I think she might actually be some kind of super-human, as I’ve never known her to take a shower, do her laundry or even seen her eat or drink. I mentioned this to my friends and they all said their babushkas are the same; how do they do it? This is just bizarre.

So, with Sunday now devoid of all plans I was forced to catch up on work, then face the horror that is the Exeter Personal Development Plan, a Year Abroad project spanning the four months I’m out here and covering all aspects of what is called ‘personal development’, which includes language acquisition, cultural awareness, employability and sustainability. After several hours of this, I decided to brave the cold and venture out onto the Volga to prevent myself from going stir crazy from being motionless inside the same four walls. I walked for over an hour and a half and managed to see a lot of the surrounding area, including several thousand churches, a small park and the confluence of the Volga and Kotorosl.

That night I was glad to get out again when Alexia suggested it. Before long we also met up with some Russians she’d got to know, Akob and Yana, who were with Ed. Finally we had the opportunity to properly practice our Russian outside class – and it was obvious how much more practice we needed. The conversation flowed fine – we all had plenty we wanted to find out about each other – but there were words we didn’t know and things that were difficult to explain. That said, the best way to learn is through conversation and through learning where you’re making mistakes.

On Monday classes were as normal, and that afternoon we set about finding a gym. It was more difficult than you might expect. There are a few gyms in the city, but they’re all widely spread apart and range hugely in price and quality. We went into one place that was charging 7000 roubles, £140, per month! With the average wage here being so low, how do people afford that?

After a fruitless search I returned home and told Lyudmila about my day. She helped me research gyms in Yaroslavl and told me the nearest places, showing me them on the map. The problem is that although our flat is handy for the university, that means it’s right on the edge of town and far away from any of the sports centres.

My babooshka was making jam that evening and was glad to talk about it when I showed an interest. Turns out, Russians are exactly like the stereotype they present in all the textbooks. They make jam, collect mushrooms, go fishing and even go to their dachas over the summer. Lyudmila told me that most people like to grow their own produce if they can, and showed me her huge stash of fruit and vegetables, all grown by her friend Natasha. Apparently they do this for the same reason some Brits do – because it’s much healthier and better-tasting than the chemically-modified supermarket produce. However, she also says that this lifestyle is outdated and something she and her generation have probably inherited from the Soviet era. She told me how everyone had had to look out for themselves and fight for survival, and how she herself had lost two brothers in the Great Famine. Such poverty is difficult to imagine and you realise that the present-day Russia has had to rise up out of the dust of this dead regime. No wonder it’s a different universe.

8th September: Keeping busy

Finally, the weekend is here! To celebrate, last night we had our first ‘big night out’ in Yaroslavl. Everyone was there; our group dominated the two-roomed Oktoberfest bar (which was complete with old German-style slatted swinging doors) and it was a great opportunity to speak to more people and get to know everyone better.

Before all this, though, I had my trip to the jazz club to get my first experience of Russian culture – or at least, the Russian take on Western culture. So, at 6.30pm prompt my babooshka’s friend Natasha came to collect me and walked me to the Jazz Centre in town, fifteen minutes’ walk from the flat. Conversation was stilted at first as it was difficult for us to find a common topic, but we got on well and I thanked her profusely – maybe even too much for here in Russia, where words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ are often regarded as unnecessary formalities.

The jazz club was small with a relaxed layout of tables and chairs in front of a little stage. The room quickly filled up until almost full and I realised what a privilege it was to be treated to free entry to this event. The ensemble consisted of grand piano, acoustic guitar, double bass and drums (kit and bongos), with the occasional addition of alto sax or another guitar. The players, having all graduated from the Moscow Conservatoire, were natural musicians and the music was gorgeous, based around tuneful melodies but filled with improvisation and solos. Natalia told me that the drummer had been a late addition to the night’s line-up; she’d come over from New York, having lived there for four years with her husband, and hasn’t been granted a return visa. Natasha told me this with a deadpan expression and without a hint of surprise; apparently, things like this are by no means a rare occurrence here.

As I glanced around the room, I noticed I was the only person tapping my foot along to the music, the Russians sitting stock still and stony-faced; yet every solo was met with generous applause. Once again I have to believe that this is just the Russian way. Nevertheless, after the concert was over I thanked Natasha again and told her it had been a wonderful experience. She seemed really glad to find someone to share her enthusiasm and offered to take me again, having already given me the Friday night timetable for the next two months.

Since I was meeting my friends in town, Natalia offered to take me there, despite the fact that it was slightly out of the way. When we couldn’t find the club, she walked me back to the university where I was going to meet some others. I couldn’t believe her kindness towards me, a mere stranger really.

The night was cold and I was glad of my thick winter coat, even if it was a little premature for the season. By the time I reached the bar, six of my fingers had gone completely numb, much to the shock and horror of my friends. Thankfully, we stayed there until closing, as we were all enjoying getting to know one another and the prices were good. A shot here is the equivalent of a double in the UK, so I was effectively paying £1.50 for a double vodka and coke (although the prices did mysteriously vary from 50 to 80 roubles each time I ordered…) At around 2am we made our way to ‘Your Бар', but understandably they wouldn’t let our group in, there being so many of us. This resulted in a lot of endless wandering before Alex, Sean, Beth and I decided to make our way home.

This morning I woke up refreshed at 10am and went into the kitchen to talk to Lyudmila, who had laid out bread, jam, muesli and a pot of tea for me. I was glad that I’d finally taken the initiative the day before and had said that, although the твороги were nice and I was enthusiastic to try Russian cuisine, I was a very healthy person and thought that it would be healthier to have хлопя in the morning. She was much more understanding than I’d expected, and my directness has obviously paid off. It being her nephew’s birthday today, she went out, but she had cooked me a vegetarian борщ (beet soup) for lunch – even though she’s only obligated to provide me breakfast and dinner. She’s showed me how to use the stove so I can heat up the soup, which she’s made from scratch, and can boil myself cups of tea when I want them. Tomorrow she’s also offered to take me on a tour of the town so I can see all the sites.

This afternoon Alex and I visited the Kremlin, where we saw the sad bear Masha in his cage and visited the cathedral. It was a cold and wet day so we were forced to take shelter in a café mid-afternoon, before heading to the central market, where we checked out the local produce and tried, to no avail, to find some socks worth buying (as I had realised it was not going to be so easy to wash out my underwear every week, the washing line over the bath being the only method of drying them).

We decided to make plans for the evening despite the fact that the weather was horrible and most of the group were still hanging from the night before. I’m worried that empty evenings will be the time I’m most likely to get homesick, so going out seems the best distraction. Since I’m so busy when I’m at home, it’s fatal for me to have long stretches of time without plans, so I’m trying to avoid this as much as possible. We’ve been told that next week we’ll find out about the clubs on offer at the university, which will give me more to do as well as the opportunity to make connections with Russian students. I also need to check out the gym because I’ll definitely want to get some exercise, especially when it’s too cold to want to walk around outside. I’m determined to distract myself from the reality of living in a strange country away from all my friends and family. The feeling is difficult to describe, but I’ve already learnt how easy it is to be surrounded by people and still feel alone. Sometimes I get the urge to cry at the strangest moments, like when I’m walking down the street to meet up with friends. But then the moment passes and I can carry on as before, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

6th September: A little knowledge is a dangerous thing

Since today has passed without any major events, this might be a good time to present you with some truths about life in Russia.

After class, we went and bought an Internet dongle from the phone shop for the small price of 1150 roubles, or £23 to you guys back home. Internet access is in no way a given here and even to be able to get a slow, limited connection like mine is a luxury afforded in few homes. In fact, the lifestyle in general is a lot more minimal than the standards we’re so used to in the west. Shopping chains are rare; there’s a Mango and a United Colours of Benetton on the high street and a H&M and Zara out of town, but so far these are the only international chains I’ve come across. Russian chain stores appear to be non-existent, with the preference seeming to trend towards often tired-looking independent shops selling clothes or footwear. The markets do a great trade, selling anything from fruit and vegetables to shoes, hats and thick winter coats. When you ask a Russian where to buy the best clothing, particularly coats, they will recommend the market.

You’re expected to haggle at the market and, like anywhere in the world, you can get seriously ripped off if you don’t keep your wits about you. Ben from UCL learnt this the hard way today when he paid 250 roubles (£5) for a melon at the market, only to find it for sale in the supermarket at 12 roubles per kilo. He was annoyed; we were amused.

Nevertheless, it’s easy to see why the Russians prefer shopping at the market. There’s a huge variety of goods on offer and, if you know where to look, you can get some good quality stuff for very little money. With the prospect of such a scarily cold winter ahead, I was thrilled to see the selection of cosy-looking jumpers and hats on offer already. Unfortunately, one hat-seller noticed my amazement and before I knew it, a white fur шапка was being thrust onto my head. I did look very Russian and sophisticated with my dark hair and white hat, I thought, before asking warily: was this real fur? Yes of course, the vendor said proudly, it was made from Arctic fox. What? That’s an endangered species!

I also had another slight run-in with my lovely yet easily-riled хозайка Lyudmila this evening. After politely eating two of the твороги (a sort of thick curd cheese pancake) this morning, and having been still being slightly hungry afterwards, this evening I cautiously enquired after a bowl to keep in my room so I could snack on Special K (or Fitness, as it’s called here) if  I ever get hungry. Unfortunately, I must not have said the word ‘bowl’ clearly enough, leading to more great confusion over what it was that I actually wanted. My babushka is quite scary when she’s confused, but I’m beginning to realise that this is just the Russian way. They’re quite abrupt until you’re direct with them about what you want; they’re a very direct nation themselves so are easily frustrated by people being unclear.

Anyway, following my experiences of Russian cuisine I decided it would be a good idea to do a little research so I’d be more likely to know what it actually was I was eating. My natural reflexes kicked in, so of course I clicked on the relevant Wikipedia article (Wikipedia does know everything, you know). However, my plan of finding out all there is to know about Russian food has been thwarted: Wikipedia is a blacklisted site in Russia. Here, apparently, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

5th September: An uneventful day, a step on the way to settling in

I feel quite a sense of achievement at having managed to pass my third full day here without incident. Classes were as normal, we went out for lunch, then I was finally able to gain Internet access at the uni: hallelujah! Having no Internet at my flat in Germany was bad enough, but trying to live without it for four months is just unthinkable, inconceivable, unimaginable. Needless to say, I will be making serious enquiries into buying an Internet dongle tomorrow.

It was another warm, sunny day, and it’s beginning to live up to the Russian forecasters’ prediction of an Indian summer. I hope and pray that they’re right; I’ve already got a reputation in class for being permanently cold – my look of horror at the teacher’s suggestion to open the window today said it all. She said that the snow here starts in October and remains until March; how can that be? She must be telling the truth though; there’s even a word for it in Russian.

When I came back to the flat today I noticed it was beginning to feel like coming home. Lyudmila cooked me fried rice with carrots, and salad and bread on the side. The food is so much more normal and in actual fact healthier than I expected. I still think gym membership is a good idea though, as I’m feeling obligated to eat absolutely everything that’s put in front of me for fear of seeming rude or ungrateful. They have so little here that to waste anything seems like sacrilege.

We only had a short chat this evening as I had a lot of work to get done before meeting the others for drinks at 9.30. We talked a little on my return about our respective days and my plans for the evening, and a little later she briefly came into my room, my door being open to appear friendly and to get some heat from the kitchen. She swiftly closed the curtains, explaining sagely that ‘boys will walk past and see a girl and knock on the window’. Glad to know I have averted that danger. She then began to tell me about a friend of hers who worked at a jazz club: did I want to go tomorrow night? Touched that she had paid so much attention to what I had to say about music and my dad’s love of jazz, I accepted enthusiastically. People say that the Russians are cold and unfriendly, but from my experiences so far, they are anything but. It’s only a matter of getting to know them and giving them a chance.

4th September: How to avoid an international incident

I exaggerate only slightly when I say I nearly caused an international incident yesterday – on two occasions. Let me just say, in my defence: it had been a very long day. Meeting everyone, having a pop quiz, trying to get my bearings, it was all exhausting. By the end of it I was tired, cold and hungry, and I was missing home and everything in it.

In retrospect, it was stupid to mention my craving for Special K – actually, Cornflakes, Shreddies, any kind of cereal – because it could only ever lead to confusion and the baffled reply that ‘Konpleks’ do not exist in this godforsaken country! My babushka was really quite irate by the end of it, so that I had to reassure her that it had only been a whim and that Russian food really was the best I’d tasted so everything was in fact fine.

Crisis averted. Until, of course, late evening arrived, and with it, the unbearable cold yet again. Texting my parents in bed, shivering, I tried to explain that I was alive and well but couldn’t help but mention the arctic temperatures I was trying to endure. On their advice I tentatively knocked on Lyudmila’s door and explained the situation, whereupon she followed me into my room and repeatedly exclaimed that it was impossible I could be cold; how could I possibly be cold? My strangeness and perennial coldness is difficult to explain at the best of times, so explaining it to an elderly Russian lady was a challenge to say the least. I was regretting my decision already; she had reminded me that the heating doesn’t come on in Russia until October so it seemed that nothing could be done, and I had only seemed to upset her in the process. Eventually she pulled a strange patterned board from the side of the wardrobe, which was attached to a wire she plugged in to the socket. She propped it against the wall for a few minutes but was worried about the fire risk, so I was finally forced to take the initiative and unplug it myself, claiming that I was actually fine and there was nothing to worry about. She seemed genuinely concerned about me now, and took the board and put it under my bed sheets, smiling at her innovativeness. After a couple more minutes she told me to get into bed, which I duly did, and she tucked the blankets around me like a mother would a small child. It was really touching to realise that she had only been worried about my welfare and comfort, and that all she wanted was for me to feel warm, safe and happy.

Today I woke up warm after a broken but long night’s sleep. Whilst I had been showering and getting myself ready, Lyudmila had prepared warm porridge for me, which she said she hoped I liked and that it would warm me up. Next to it was a pot of tea and a pot of milk as usual, as well as the blini I had begun to get used to as a food staple – in case I didn’t like the porridge, she said. When I returned to my room Lyudmila had put the heater on again, to warm the room up while I was away. I offered to turn it off but she assured me she would keep an eye on it and, after she had advised me against my boots and recommended my wellies for the rain, we said our goodbyes for the day.

On arriving at the uni, I found out I had been placed in the top group and had my first timetabled classes – two lessons on media and two on translation. The work isn’t easy but I would much rather be pushed than be bored. Classes ended at 1pm, as they will for the next four months, so Ed and I did a few things in town before I made my way on the free bus to the Globus supermarket.

The supermarket was huge, and I wandered around for what seemed like hours, comparing the products and prices with what we get back home. It soon became obvious that the Russians have completely different tastes from us Brits. There was so much bread and cheese, and the bread was so cheap! The cereal section was minuscule, but at least it existed; I managed to buy equivalents to Crunchy Nut, Frosties and Special K! As I was coming onto the car park I saw a green bus like the one I had taken there, and ran to catch it, only to discover it was a number 2 bus that didn’t even go to my stop at Красная Плошадь. I was grateful my hurried Russian was just understandable enough to get me instructions on when to get off and which bus to take next. I’d been lucky, but I would have to be more careful next time.

I showed my buys to Lyudmila when I got home, and tried to explain the joys of cereal, sultanas and various other peculiarly English purchases I’d made. I think this probably added to her suspicion that she has got someone rather odd living in her flat.

For dinner I was presented with cod; fried potatoes with onions; salad and bread. I was beginning to feel more settled and was starting to see the different food as an opportunity to experience the culture, even if it was scary not knowing what I would be given next. After dinner, Lyudmila and I talked for a long time about Yaroslavl and Russia, and about life in the Soviet Union. We seem to be getting along well now we’re getting used to each other. She’s put another blanket on my bed too.

3rd September: A new kind of normality

This is my first full day in Russia and I feel as though I have had steel chains locked around my hands and feet and been thrown into the ocean. Nothing I had read or been told could ever have prepared me for this. This is not just another country, this is another world.

On arriving at Moscow airport yesterday, we were told by a RLUS representative to wait for another member of staff to collect us and take us on the final four-hour leg of the journey to Yaroslavl. At that stage it had been a comfort to find out that we were a big group of British students all heading for the same course – and that I even knew some of them from Exeter already. The wait for our rep was long but at least we were all in it together now, and we had at least found a RLUS representative who vaguely knew what was going on. An hour later we were directed to a coach, where we spent a very long, cold few hours, filled with apprehension about what to expect at the other end. Finally we reached Yaroslavl, where the drop-offs began. I was one of the last to go.

My host for the next four months was waiting, smiling, outside the university. We introduced ourselves and I breathed a sigh of relief that she seemed friendly and not at all like the distant, strict Russian stereotype I had begun to expect. She took one of my cases and walked with me to her flat, which she already referred to as ‘ours’, pointing out the Volga and the train station on the way and attempting conversation despite my broken Russian. My nerves made me forget my grammar and even my words but I tried to seem friendly and keep talking despite my exhaustion. First impressions are always important, but especially so when you’re going to be living in close proximity with someone for the next four months of your life.

The surroundings were green and pleasant, not at all what I’d expected after seeing the streets where others had been dropped off, which had been exactly how you’d imagine Russian suburban areas to be – drab, expansive and impersonal. When we reached the apartment block, we climbed the handful of tiled steps to the second apartment, which was fronted by an old metal door. The entire building was distinctly Soviet and I prepared myself for what was inside. Whilst she bolted the two front doors, Lyudmila directed me to my bedroom, which contained a wooden-framed sofa converted into a bed, a dining table, a wardrobe, cupboards and a shelving unit containing an old JVC TV. A short explanation of my bedroom facilities and it was time to see the rest of the flat, which consisted of another room like mine, a tiny kitchen, a toilet and a bathroom with only a bath and no sink – presumably, you were supposed to wash and brush your teeth using the tap raised over the faded green bath. Lyudmila seemed lovely, the flat clean and comfortable – but I have never felt so far from home.

After eating the blini (Russian pancakes) and homemade apple jam, and drinking the warming tea that had been laid out for me, we chatted a while before going to bed. The night was long and cold, despite my many layers and blankets. The next day my alarm woke me from a disturbed sleep at 10am. Struggling to adjust the shower to the right temperature, I washed my hair and worried about the cost of water consumption for my host, whose life seemed, from the short conversation I had had with her, to be governed not only by bleak poverty but also loneliness, as she lived completely alone, having no family of her own – only a sister and her children.

There must have been a communication problem somewhere as I was suddenly under the impression that Lyudmila wanted to leave for the university within ten minutes of me getting out the shower – a disaster since I had planned to take time over choosing what to wear, doing my hair and make-up and having a relaxed breakfast. So I rushed to be ready for 10.45 despite the fact that we were not expected at the uni until 11.30, but when the time came to leave she suddenly became very relaxed. Eventually we set off. She gave me my keys and showed me how to double-lock and unlock the many doors, and showed me the various entrances to the apartment courtyard. By the time we got to the uni my brain was exploding with the effort of remembering so many details – and in Russian too. I knew only too well the dangers of getting lost in a place like this.

Lyudmila said goodbye to me at the entrance and I was left to fend for myself in the huge old building. Thankfully I met Lily and her host on the stairs and followed them to the correct room, where we were given a short induction and told we were going to sit a test – right then. Having not spoken Russian for four months, I was completely unprepared, and could only hope that everyone else was in a similar situation.

The afternoon was spent eating lunch, buying Russian mobile phones and getting new passport photos taken for the student ID. At 6pm I made my way home, stopping off to buy water and take photos of my immediate surroundings. After more attempts at polite conversation with Lyudmila, I launched into my suggestion that I buy myself some cereal as a bit of a home comfort, which led to much confusion. It was finally decided that I could try to find these ‘Confleks’ at the supermarket (which is a 20-minute bus ride away) but that they probably didn’t exist. I then broached the question of whether I could buy my lunch and bring it to the flat rather than eating at a restaurant every day, which she didn’t seem very pleased about at all. She started to ask about money and I told her the cost of the rent, having assumed she knew this already. I hope she doesn’t try to ask for more – this is expensive enough as it is!

And so to the end of my first day. It’s 22:09 but I’m wide awake and my room is still cold. I can only hope that I’ll find out more tomorrow – about food, gyms, activities, how to go out at night – so I can start adjusting and create a new kind of normality.