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.
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