27th October: Week eight over, winter begins

I have never known the true meaning of the word ‘cold’ until now. After weeks of anticipation for the authentic Russian winter we've been told about, it has finally hit; the temperature has plunged to below zero and yesterday we experienced our first proper snowfall, with huge thick flakes falling on and off throughout the day. Of course, we’re all completely over-excited for a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, and the sight of that first snow covering when I woke up yesterday morning just made my day. Naturally, when I was walking home in the early hours of the morning with frozen fingers, trying to avoid the black ice, it wasn't quite so fun.

Anyway, to sum up another week: it’s gone quickly and without any major events, apart from the one important fact that I am now officially halfway through my time here and on the home stretch. The exercise classes I’m going to on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays are the perfect way of filling up my evenings, as they run from 7.30pm (or 7pm on a Friday) and last an hour, meaning I don’t get back until around 9pm most days, and by then there’s just time to shower and watch something on the TV or my laptop before bed. Sometimes the classes are brilliant, sometimes not so good, but as I’m going four times a week it doesn't seem to matter that much, and anyway, it must be better than doing nothing. Tuesday’s class was a classic example of a less challenging class; we’d been told it was going to be aerobics but it was more of a dance class, where we learnt some modern-style choreography which, while quite interesting, wasn't the best exercise as it mostly involved us watching the ever-so-slightly-crazy instructor go off on choreographic tangents, and getting ever-so-slightly confused.

There’s no class on Wednesdays, which works out well as that’s when my group of friends usually likes to go to the cinema. We’d wanted to see a Russian film about the Patriotic War of 1812 which we’d seen advertised the last time we were at the cinema, but none of the cinemas seemed to be showing it so we decided just to go and decided on a film when we got there. We were running late as usual so by the time we got there, there were only a few films to choose from and we ended up going for the new Brad Pitt film, Ограбление Казино, which translates from the Russian as ‘Casino Robbery’ but is actually called ‘Killing them Softly’ in English. It turned out the film was far too dialogue-based and the plot far too complex for us to have the slightest idea of what was going on in the dubbed-over Russian version, and not only that but even the Russians in the cinema were moaning all the way through about how boring it was, and how it was a waste of 100r. On top of that, it didn't finish until after 11pm, when the buses into town are sporadic at best, so we jumped on the first bus that came, which was to the main station – but by the time we’d got there, all the trolleybuses into the centre had stopped. We ended up walking all the way from the station in the biting cold; I even jogged some of the way just to keep my fingers from going numb.

Thursday would have been a normal day apart from a spiteful message I received by accident, which made me cry in front of my poor Babushka again. She seemed a bit taken aback by the whole thing but did her best to try and comfort me, calling me a «красавица» (‘beautiful girl’) and telling me this person obviously had problems, and that God was with them. She was very sweet, hugging me and comforting me as though she really was my grandma. Then, later on, she came into my room and chatted to me, in particular about Kiev, showing me the pictures in the Soviet book she’d left out for me.

That night I was triple-booked: boxercise, the first choir practice and a language club were all on at practically the same time. As the language club seemed to present quite a good opportunity to meet native Russians, I put that as my first priority and turned up at 5.30pm after my usual early dinner, which this time I’d had to microwave myself as Lyudmila had actually gone out (although I have realised she often goes out in the middle of the day when I’m not around either). The meeting was taking place in the university buffet and was that sort of contrived, enforced fun that schools and universities tend to fall into the trap of organising, with all of us sitting round tables in groups with tea and sweets, making conversation out of a list of questions which had been set out for us on a sheet of paper. There were four different languages: Russian, English, German and French, and I’d been put on the English table with Alexia, three Russian students and our teacher for speaking, Larissa. Alexia and I spoke Russian whilst the others spoke English, and we dutifully discussed the topic of languages. We went off on some tangents and surprisingly, the time ended up going really quickly and it seemed like we had barely started when we were told the session was over. We exchanged numbers and suggested meeting up again before the next meeting, which wasn't until 11^th November.

By that time, it was getting on for 7 o’clock and it didn't seem worth interrupting the choir practice, which had started at 6, only to leave again at quarter-past-seven. So instead, I walked with Amy and Sophie into town to sort out Amy’s Internet (a problem that everyone seems to have come up against at least one time or another). The class that night was boxercise, my favourite, and it was as good as it had been the week before. The only bad thing about going to the classes is the getting dressed and going out into the cold afterwards when you've just been boiling hot and sweating. Luckily the walk is barely five minutes long so there’s not much to complain about.

On Friday afternoon, still with no concrete information about whether everyone would get visas or not, but with the assurance that they should arrive by Monday, we stayed at the lunch restaurant all afternoon, trying to gather information online about our trip in reading week, which starts on 3^rd November. By 4.30 we were no further forward – in fact, we seemed to have gone back a step, having been distracted by the prospect of travelling to Georgia instead. Going to Georgia would be amazing, but at the moment it’s looking pretty difficult. In any case, we need to make up our minds in the next few days and get something booked.

When I returned to the flat just before 5, Lyudmila had gone out again, this time to meet her nephew who had just returned from his compulsory army service in Moscow. She had left some food out for me, but I have to say it was one of the strangest meals I've ever been presented with: simply a plateful of cauliflower. Not being the biggest fan of that tasteless vegetable anyway, I covered it in the Russian version of ketchup, but I have to say it did little to improve it. I wondered if this meal was a quirk of my babushka or of the Russian nation in general.

That night, I went to Pilates and then met with Sophie to walk to Rob, Charlie and Dave’s place, where everyone was meant to be going for drinks before heading over to the Король Королю nightclub. We didn't start till late and by the time everyone got there it was getting on for 11pm and the blizzard was setting in again, so inevitably we never actually made it out. By 3am I was falling asleep and ready to go home, and Will and Nick from Exeter insisted on walking me back, with exaggerated chivalry all the way, saving me from puddles and black ice and trying (ambitiously) to buy me something vegetarian in the kebab shop. The walk back almost seemed short with their jokes to pass the time.

The next morning I woke up surprisingly early – even Lyudmila was surprised. For breakfast she’d prepared me some cereal as usual, and instead of bread, two massive pies, which I just couldn't face at that time in the morning. She was shocked that I’d left them so, not wanting to offend her, I just said that I wasn't very hungry. She seemed satisfied with this and carried on with her chores; she was cooking something again – a soup, as it turns out, which she later showed me and said I could reheat and have for lunch with the bread, tea and juice she’d left out for me. We had another nice chat over breakfast, this time about her nephew and Russia’s system of compulsory army subscription. Apparently, army service is an absolute ordeal here and everyone dreads it. All the men have to do it for a year once they reach the age of eighteen, and even if they get a place at university they have to serve once they graduate. As with anything in Russia, however, there are people who know how to cheat the system, mainly officials who pay bribes to get their sons excused. Lyudmila seems to resignedly accept this corruption of a fact of life; I guess that’s the best way to be here, as nothing seems likely to change any time soon. I’m glad I only have to put up with it for another eight weeks!