29th November: A Busy Week

Despite the impression I've had that this last month is going to be the biggest challenge so far, over the past few days I've managed to have a really good time.

On Monday night, after boxercise, I was meeting Vanya, Julia and a friend of theirs (at Cocktail Bar, as per Monday night tradition). Outside I bumped into Nick and Will and they soon fit into our group (maybe even a little too well, when Nick and Vanya decided to have a drinking competition). Even though I’d heard that no one was going to be out that night, the place gradually filled up with our English crowd, but I was happy to stay and talk with my Russian friends.

Later on, we went up to the second floor, where there’s a dance floor as well as a bar. There was a great atmosphere, and it was only because Vanya had overdone it on the drinking contest that we left at 3.30. For the second time that night, some guy tried to talk to me, not getting the hint when I said I was with friends. He wasn't as bad as the guy downstairs though, who, after trying to persuade me to leave, followed me to my table to try and get my number. As I was leaving, the second guy slipped a note into my hand with his number on it, labelled ‘English man’; either these are the normal pulling techniques here, or it was just one of those nights.

We came out of the bar to find it was still snowing, a blissful contrast to the heat inside. The streets looked beautiful, shimmering under the lights. There’s something about walking empty snowy streets at night that’s incredibly peaceful. We took our time walking back, chatting and listening to Blue Jeans by Lana del Rey on repeat – I can’t seem to tire of that song, it’s really beautiful. Then we said our goodbyes, agreeing to meet up again the next day.

And so, the next day, as promised, after my Latino dance class I headed over to Vanya’s on the marshrutka. Both Julia and Vanya said they’d meet me at the bus stop as they lived so close to one another, which was a relief as I had no idea where I was going. As we ascended the steps to Vanya’s flat, his mum, Natasha, was already waiting in the doorway, laughing at the fact I was slightly out of breath from carrying my bag up the stairs. Vanya’s dad (whose name, amusingly, is Ivan, making Vanya’s full name Ivan Ivanovich) was standing in the small hallway and there was a lot of crowded bustling about whilst everyone took off their layers and said their hellos. Natasha kindly proffered a pair of slippers in my direction, already offering food and drinks.

Knowing that it’s a Russian custom to offer guests copious amounts of food and drink, but having just eaten before leaving the house, I tried to politely decline, and Natasha conceded to just put on some tea. As the kettle was boiling, both parents came into Vanya’s room and started asking me questions, full of interest about me and my life in England. It was nice to see that some things never change, no matter what country you’re in, as even from the kitchen Natasha repeatedly interjected to nag Ivan to talk slower, despite the fact he was talking at a completely reasonable speed.

When the tea was ready we settled down in the living room and Ivan picked a Russian comedy to show me, as we’d just been talking about it. Of course, despite my previous protests an entire feast had been laid out on the table – blini, tvorogi, salad and even, a bit later, a whole apple pie. As I was picking up my tea I was offered honey, which, I was told, had come from all the way from the Urals – so how could I refuse? I was about to put it in my tea when Vanya stopped me, explaining that I was meant to eat it straight from the teaspoon, then take a sip of tea. This seemed a bit odd but I obliged, and I have to say it actually works quite well.

Ivan started the film, a Russian parody of Naziism called “Гитлер Капут” ('Hitler Kaputt'), stopping it every few minutes to explain what was going on, and even at some points rewinding it until I’d understood every word. In the meantime, Natasha was preparing yet more food and, when she brought in the apple pie it was an effort for me to appear enthusiastic, being already full from the blini and tvorogi. However, I was so touched that she’d gone to all this effort that I couldn't find the heart to appear anything but overjoyed at the prospect of another huge portion of food, and started to look around for a plate and cutlery. It was then that I was given a fork and told, “This is Russia. We eat straight from the bowl.” Talk about a cultural experience.

It took us a long time to watch the film to the end, what with the constant rewinding and stopping it so Natasha could ask me questions. She was fascinated to know how people in England lived and found it difficult to imagine the concept of private houses and gardens, an unknown phenomenon here unless you count the wooden dachas in the countryside, which is a different thing altogether. Somehow it happened that at one point all the family photo albums were coming out and I was being shown photos of their trips to England (they’d been to Exeter with the grandfather’s folk orchestra, too), as well as pictures of a young Vanya, much to his horror.

At around midnight Julia had to go home, fearing her mother’s reaction if she appeared any later, there having been at least two irritable phone calls from her already. So, the three of us put on all our layers and braved it out into the cold. It had finally stopped snowing, but the temperature had plunged to well below freezing. Most days now we’re lucky to get highs of -5, but of course, the Russians are used to this and find my horror a brilliant source of amusement. It’s actually so standard that when talking about the temperature, they often don’t even bother to include the word ‘minus’.

When we got back to the flat, Natasha happened to see my coat and asked me skeptically if I wasn't freezing. I admitted that yes, I was quite chilly, and before I knew it I was being given a jacket to try on and being told to put on all my layers to prove their adequacy. When my outerwear had been approved I was allowed to undress again and carry on with the film, but not before another round of probing questions. I was happy to answer, even though it was hard to explain; it was the least I could do after being made to feel so welcome.

The next day their kindness went even further; after I’d been allowed to help myself to cereal and been brewed a fresh cup of coffee, I was given a lift all the way into university. As I was leaving there was an awkward moment where I didn't know what to do about the coat situation; was I expected to wear the thick red one I’d tried on the day before? I tried to ask Vanya in private but there was no time – and so I took a guess and agreed to leave my coat behind and take Natasha’s.

There was traffic on the roads but not as much as I’d expected, and we managed to make it in by 9.13 on the dot. On the way we dropped off another passenger who I didn't know but assumed was a neighbour, and Natasha jumped out at the lights about halfway into town, before I’d even had chance to thank her profusely, as I’d had planned. The last half of the journey was just me and Ivan, but it was surprisingly comfortable, even when we fell into silence every now and then. When we arrived I thanked him and told him how kind they had been, and that I hoped I would see them soon.

The next day was the last night out for the people who were leaving on Friday, and I planned to meet them at Your Bar after my usual Wednesday trip to the cinema. This time, I’d arranged to meet Alexia, Vanya and Julia to watch the final ‘Twilight’ instalment (even though I do find these films more than a bit ridiculous) but it turned out there were no tickets left and Alexia didn't have any money left in her account, so Vanya, Julia and I ended up at Cocktail Bar again.

At just after 9 Julia said she had to go, worrying again about how her mother might react. Before meeting me she’d never got drunk and never even been to a bar; her mother must hate me. On the plus side, though, before I came along she and Vanya weren't very close either and hardly saw each other. The other day, Julia told me how happy she was because Vanya had called her to meet up with us, and that had never happened before.

Vanya and I stayed in Cocktail Bar till around ten, when we thought my English friends would be arriving in Your Bar. I can feel how talking in Russian is getting easier and how my confidence is growing; I’m even able to make jokes now and express my personality a lot better. When we arrived in Your Bar, no one had arrived yet and it was looking depressingly empty, but Vanya’s friend, who’s a bouncer there, came to talk to us and within half an hour it was full of English students anyway. We stayed until closing at 2am, when we moved back to Cocktail yet again. There I met some more of Vanya’s friends, one of whom tried to explain to me the difference between Russians and Englishmen, which I have to say wasn't particularly flattering (but then, who could blame him, when his primary reference point was probably the crowd of drunkards hanging around at the bar?)

We left at around 4, by which time the group had already started to break up. After so many late nights, I was relieved at the prospect of my warm bed, even if I would only be in it for three-and-a-half hours. It was a tough task to get through this morning but I managed it nonetheless, and spent the afternoon catching up on sleep before heading to my dance class at 7.30, by which time my brain was working properly again and I managed to have a successful session. Irina, the instructor, was at it again, informing us all didactically what we should and shouldn't do to get thin, and how we shouldn't be able to pinch more than 4cm of belly flesh. I've learnt by now that this is just her way, and not to be offended when she says things like, “ You've eaten before class again, haven’t you? It all goes on your belly, you know.” That’s Russian subtlety for you. Apparently, if we want to look anywhere near half-decent, we shouldn't eat anything after 4 o’clock. Thanks for the advice, but I’d rather not die of starvation! It’s a good job she’s nice and only means well; I think it’s just another cultural thing.

So, now I’m about to enjoy my first proper night in for a long time, and hopefully I’ll wake up refreshed for my trip to Moscow tomorrow. I’m hoping that a bit more time apart from Lyudmila will also do us both good; on the whole she’s been a lot better this week (I even got given two cakes), but maybe that’s because she’s just been glad to get rid of me for a couple of nights. Apparently, a lot of people have started having problems with their landladies now; the word is that after Reading Week they tend to just get fed up with having someone living in their flat. Nonetheless, Lyudmila and I have managed a few conversations this week, and in any case, I think I can bear a bit of moodiness for three weeks. Besides, it’s not like I’m ever actually in.

26th November: A Fun Weekend, a Tough Decision

Another weekend has gone by and now there are only three left until I go home. It’s partly because of this that I've decided to stay where I am and not to move flats after all. Lyudmila’s attitude towards me has improved quite a bit over the weekend (owing largely, no doubt, to the fact she’s realised she might lose my tenancy) and I've thought about how convenient it is living here, right by the university, the town centre and my exercise classes. The only reason I would move now is to move in with Vanya because I know I’d have a good time, but quite a few people have told me it takes an hour to get into town from there in the rush hour, which would be a nightmare, especially when the proper winter sets in, which is bound to be soon, as it’s snowed all day today.

Anyway, before I explain my decision further, first I’ll explain my weekend. Friday was Sean’s birthday, so after my exercise class I planned to go and meet everyone for drinks. Vanya called and said he’d like to come after all (at first, he’d been put off by the fact that everyone was going to be English) and when we arrived, the bar was already full of our party. With everyone speaking English, it was difficult to integrate Vanya into the group, but with more and more people arriving we soon split up into smaller groups anyway. At around 2 we decided to move on to the club Король Королю, where we drank, ate and chatted until gone 5.

The next day I woke up much earlier than intended and felt the worse for it. I ate the breakfast that had been laid out for me before giving in and going back to bed for a couple of hours so that by lunchtime, I was able to do a bit of work. I met Julia for coffee at 4.30 as planned; she’s actually Vanya’s cousin, not his sister, but people often refer to cousins as siblings here, hence the confusion. Vanya joined us a little later before the three of us took the marshrutka back to the area where they both live.

This place felt like real Russia, not at all like the city centre where I live. It’s all very Soviet; the little marshrutka dropped us off at the side of the road, from where we descended the steps to a deserted underpass. On the other side of the road began row upon row of bleak grey apartment blocks, each one identical and lifeless. I was glad I was with friends; this place was completely alien to me.

Vanya seemed a little puzzled about what on earth to feed a vegetarian, but we managed to come back from the supermarket laden with salad, potato and mushroom pelmeni (dumplings) and drinks. The entrance to his apartment block was, naturally, almost the same as mine and even the inside was of an almost identical bland Soviet style (that is, concrete walls, stone steps, and metal doors) but the apartment itself was a lot more modern and homely. Admittedly, it was small for three people but it seemed cosy and I felt at home there straight away. He also has an adorable little kitten who, for some reason, took an instant shine to me, apparently having failed to notice that I’m actually more of a dog person.

I was given a tour of the house and shown where everything was, right down to the perfume cabinet, which he said I could help myself to at any time. He’d tidied his room and changed the bed, and showed me where my towel was as well as the hand towel and (bizarrely) feet towel. Then he and Julia made the dinner (I wasn't allowed to help) while I took control of the music channel and amazing stereo system.

It ended up being one of the best nights I’d had in ages. We watched the Russian version of Ted, chatted and laughed at Julia getting drunk for the first time. By around 2.30 Julia was ready to go home and, reluctantly, I went out into the cold to keep them company. We came out onto the street to find it was snowing, and I was suddenly overcome with amazement that I was in the middle of Russia, in the middle of the night, laughing in the snow with friends I’d made just a few weeks ago. Vanya picked me up on his shoulders and the three of us ran across the snow like kids. I couldn't remember the last time I’d felt this happy.

When we got back we ended up singing Russian songs, watching Misfits (in Russian but with English subtitles) and chatting until 5, so it was no surprise that the next day we didn't feel like doing a lot. After eating copious amounts of cereal (yes, I have found another cereal addict) we spent the day watching films and chatting. When Julia arrived at just after 4 we were only just eating our lunch. Then it was time to take the marshrutka back into town to choir practice, for which I only just managed to stay awake.

Back at the flat, Lyudmila had dinner waiting for me and seemed in a good mood. By then I’d made my decision; even though I’d had an amazing time that weekend, it just wouldn't be practical to move that far out when I've got so much on every day and so much tying me to the centre of town. As I was writing my list of mealtimes for the week, Lyudmila came out of her room and I explained my plans to her. She seemed surprised I was staying and began to say she’d started making plans (what plans could she possibly make? She never goes out the house). I said that if it was an inconvenience I could still move out and she quickly said that no, it was fine. We went round in circles for a while with each of us claiming we didn't mind either way, and at one point she even made the bizarre comment that she would “just feel bad for me having to move my big suitcase”. We both seemed happy with the arrangement and she started to claim I’d said I’d already decided (which I definitely hadn't  but luckily the phone rang before we could get into a disagreement. I think things will always be a bit tense between us (for instance, when I pay less for the weekend I’m away, as a matter of principle) but I’ll survive for the sake of convenience.

Today Vanya came and met Alexia and me after lunch, but I couldn't quite bring myself to tell him I wasn't moving in any more, especially as he’d shown me everything in the apartment and made me feel so welcome. Nonetheless, I think this is the right decision, and Lyudmila’s behaviour is even bordering on nice today; she said “good evening” before telling me my dinner was ready, gave me huge amounts of food and even asked how my day was. When Vanya phoned to make arrangements for this evening I was relieved that he asked me outright whether I was moving on Friday, forcing me to tell him, and it wasn't that bad at all. I said I’d go round often, but that it was just impractical to move out there. I just hope I’m making the right decision.

23rd November: A New Plan of Action

Since last writing I’ve come up with a several solutions to my problem, none of them ideal but all of them possible. My first option is to move in with another landlady provided by the university. They’ve suggested one to me already; she lives near Glavnii Station, which is obviously a lot less convenient than my current location, but still a reasonable distance away. She doesn’t mind catering for vegetarians, but the flat does sound very small; I would have to walk through her bedroom every time I wanted to get into mine. Another option is to live at one of the apartments where the students have already moved out or will be moving out next week at the end of the thirteen-week course. Ben also has a free space in his apartment since the girl who used to be living there when he arrived left a couple of months ago – and his landlady is used to catering for a lot of people, there having been three tenants at one point.

Living with Ben, or something similar, would be great, because we already know their landladies are reasonable people. In general, though, I’m not sure whether I really want to live with another landlady, not knowing what she’s going to be like, and having to settle into a new routine – how complicated would it be to explain my packed diary and bizarre mealtimes?

This is where the other option comes in; my friend Vanya has spoken to his parents and invited me to stay with them for the rest of the term, for free. He lives in a two-bedroom apartment with his parents but says he would sleep in the living room and I would have his room. I can’t believe how generous this is of him and his family and would absolutely love to live there, were it not for one thing: the distance. I spoke to the university today, who said it was in a remote area, miles away, and that I should definitely think hard before moving. Up until I’d spoken to the university I was ready to move the next day; it was all arranged.

Then, this afternoon, the repair men came round to look at the window. It turned out it was a two-minute job and didn’t require any payment whatsoever. So, it was now almost certain that I was safe from eviction from this apartment – until next week at least, because Lyudmila didn’t have sufficient grounds to break the contract. I don’t know how she feels about me moving out now (she’d changed my towels today and gave me a good dinner) but she was still barely civil and I don’t think I can stand another month of her. So, the new plan is to meet Julia and Vanya tomorrow afternoon and then go back to Vanya’s place for the night to see how I get on. I then have until Friday to decide where to live for the next three weeks.

Luckily, I’ve got something to break up the next few weeks, in the form of a trip to Moscow next weekend. Beth, Sean, Lily, Karen, Nell and I are going to make the most of being so near the capital and are going on Friday for a last weekend of sightseeing and souvenir shopping. At least I’ve got something to look forward to. Until then, I’ll be struggling with the question of where on earth I’m going to live.

22nd November: Things Just Keep Getting Worse

Finally, after all this time, Lyudmila and I have had a proper confrontation where I actually gave my side of the argument.

Today, as soon as I got to university I went into the office to tell them about what had happened and see what could be done about it. Julia is on holiday this week, but thankfully Larissa stepped in and contacted her. Within half an hour I was lined up with a new potential landlady; however, the problem with my current landlady hadn't yet been solved. I then needed to explain the situation again to Natasha, who works in the office alongside Julia and has helped me in the past when I needed to get back to England. She tried ringing straight away but after there was no answer to either the home number or Lyudmila’s mobile, she said she would try again later.

That day, attendance was at its worst, there being only nine students and two teachers, so we ended up finishing an hour early (just on the day I’d rather be anywhere but my flat). When I came out, Natasha told me she had spoken to Lyudmila and that I wasn't going to have to pay for the window, which somehow seemed too good to be true. It came out that Lyudmila had said the workman might repair it for free; however, if there was a charge and she wanted me to pay it, the university would move me.

I put off going back to the flat and walked to the theatre with Joe to check out tickets for Chekhov and Carmen next month. Then, feeling only a little comforted by the discussion the university had had with my landlady, I slowly made my way back. Lyudmila was, unfortunately, in the flat, and it was an effort to force a ‘hello’. The workman hadn't been yet, and after a few minutes, Lyudmila came into my room to start berating me yet again. She asked me what I’d been saying to the university and said I shouldn't have over-reacted, that I’d made her look bad. But what made me think that she was the bad one, hadn't that boy even said to me a few weeks ago that I was horrible? That seemed like a really low blow to me.

I did everything I could to explain how far I had gone out of my way to abide by her rules and respect her, at which she claimed I woke her up when I came in from nights out. I know she’s only been woken up twice during the whole time I've been here and explained how hard I try to keep quiet and don’t turn on any lights, even when she goes back to bed in the morning. Apparently, she can’t sleep at all until I get back in from a night out; this is just plain ridiculous. She added that I was ungrateful and didn't say thank you when she gave me meals – a complete lie, since every time she tells me dinner is ready I respond with ‘thank you’. Apparently, I should thank her after the meal too, as the first ‘thank you’ is for telling me that dinner is ready, and not dinner itself. This is a first to me, especially in a culture where ‘thank you’ is considered a superfluous word.

She went on to say that if I didn't like living here I could easily have moved out, to which I replied that I would have moved out a lot sooner if the apartment wasn't in such a good location. She then claimed that she had been nothing but kind to me, which seemed ridiculous considering the way she’d treated me over the last few weeks. I told her this and she said she had been nice to me up until the holidays. I just laughed at that and said that she was angry with me for following the university rules; but her response was that most people didn't deduct for when they were away, and that the girl from Oxford on the floor above hadn't  I don’t know about the girl from Oxford but I know full well that this was a rule set by the university in the contract, and that everyone else had done the same as I had.

Anyway, it came down to this: if the window is badly broken and I refuse to pay, she’ll phone the university and I’ll have to move out tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen if the window isn't broken, but at the moment I can’t imagine anything worse than staying here.

21st November: An Awkward Situation

The situation with my landlady has hit a new low. I think it’s safe to say that she officially hates me now, and there’s little I can do to change this.

To explain the story properly, I need to recap a few days. So, on Monday night, after Strip Dance (which was surprisingly ok, by the way – half the class was dance, the other half weights) I went out for drinks. Vanya picked me up from outside my flat and we walked to Cocktail Bar together, only to find that no one was there as loads of people had gone out the night before, and Ben and Ed had already moved on somewhere else. We walked over to Taro, where they were waiting for us, and waited for Alexia, Sean and Katya, a Russian girl we’d met in Cocktail Bar the week before.

Katya took us to a little bar called Jamaica, which turned out to be completely empty. Not wanting to stay in such a depressing atmosphere, Alexia, Vanya and I split off from the others and headed to People Bar. There, we split a bottle of vodka and chatted for a few hours before moving on to Your Bar, which turned out to be already closed. And so we ended up back at Cocktail Bar, and it was there that the night took a bad turn. For some reason, I thought it was a good idea to drink my usual Tropical Iced Tea on top of all the vodka I’d already drunk, and to accept the two shots of Ярославская Собака (Yaroslavl Dog, which consists of vodka and Tabasco) that Vanya ordered for me. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night being sick.

Alexia and Vanya walked me home and, as I wasn't thinking straight, I let them take me right to my door. Of course this woke Lyudmila up, who came out of her room with a face like thunder. I apologised profusely whilst fumbling ineffectually with my keys and trying to make a quick escape. Just when things had started to improve, Lyudmila was angry with me again.

The next day, having had approximately two hours sleep and still feeling the full effects of the horrendous shots I’d drunk, the last thing I wanted to be doing was going to university, but I had no choice. There was no way I was spending any more time than absolutely necessary in that apartment with Lyudmila.

By some miracle, both our teachers were away that day and I was able to nap for the first two hours before a cover teacher appeared, and even then I managed to hide in the corner and not say much. As soon as classes finished I staggered home and fell into bed for the rest of the afternoon, only waking up to have some dinner, speak to my boyfriend and watch a film. When I saw Lyudmila I apologised again profusely, but she was not impressed. She said that my apology was just words and when I repeatedly apologised and promised it wouldn't happen again, she simply said, “We’ll see.”

Later, watching a film, it got unbelievably hot in my room so, like any ordinary person, I decided to open a window. It was then that my day got even worse; something went wrong with the hinge of the window and it wouldn't close. I tried every way possible to close it but it just wouldn't go. I couldn't go into Lyudmila’s room now, as disturbing her would anger her even more. I decided to wait until the next afternoon (she was never in a very good mood in the mornings either) and spent the whole day dreading what might happen.

When I got back today she wasn't in, but out of habit I closed the latch on the door. An hour later I heard furious and incessant rings on the doorbell and rushed to open the door, apologising profusely. It was then that I began to explain that the window wouldn't close, at which she said she already knew, and why hadn't I told her before. I said that I had first realised that morning and hadn't wanted to wake her (because she goes back to sleep after she’s cooked me breakfast) but she retorted that I should have woken her because now she wouldn't be able to get the workman in until the next day. She asked what I’d done to it and I replied honestly that I hadn't done anything, I’d just opened it. Of course, she didn't believe me and said I must have done something to it to break it, and that the cost would come out of my bill. And I’d thought the situation between us couldn't get any worse.

19th November: Making Contacts

What I expected to be a boring weekend ended up turning into quite an interesting one. On Saturday afternoon, I met Julia and her friend Dasha outside the university and spent nearly four hours in local coffee shop just chatting to them. They spoke in English (most of the time, at least) and I in Russian, which was great practice for all of us. They’re really sweet girls and we agreed to do the same thing again the next week.

When I got back I got a call from Denis and agreed to meet up that night. After phoning round my English friends and discovering none of them would be ready soon enough, I conceded I’d have to go on my own and meet up with them a bit later. Denis is definitely an unusual character and he speaks impossibly fast, but I guess it’s all good practice. Like most of the young people here, he wants to leave Russia as soon as he can, loves everything about the idea of living abroad and has an absolutely idealised view of England. At the same time, he’s still got some of the typical Russian values, and I could only smile when I was told yet again that it was about time I was thinking about marriage.

At around 9.30 we went to meet Alexia, Ben and Ed outside Your Бар, where they were hoping to meet Akob and Yana (who didn’t actually turn up until after midnight in the end). I introduced them to Denis before he mysteriously disappeared, sending me a text asking me to call him later. In the meantime, Julia’s brother Vanya also decided to come and meet us, only to be refused entry by the bouncers, who were, by that time, imposing the girls-only rule, something which still seems incredibly unfair to me (despite the fact I gain from it).

By just past midnight I was already getting bored and was still tired from the night before, so decided to make my way home. Vanya, who’d been chatting to some friends in the foyer, offered to walk me home, and after some convincing, I agreed we could go the long way. Chatting to him is getting easier – whether he’s slowed down his speech for me or I’m just getting used to it, I don’t know. At any rate, we managed to have some really interesting conversations about the poor state of Russia (in particular, the state of its cities and its roads), and the corrupt political system. In Vanya’s opinion, Russia hasn't recovered since the rapid capitalisation under Yeltsin and needs radical reform for there to be any kind of significant improvements in the standard of life. He agrees that Putin made drastic improvements to Russia during his first term in office but that major action is still needed now to get Russia out of this spiral of decline.

It was getting late by the time we got to my road and I was beginning to feel the cold. It took a little while to convince Vanya that I really did have to go (yes, I really did have to get up early; no, I couldn't just go inside and get more layers) but we finally said our goodbyes, agreeing to meet up at Cocktail Bar and to watch the new season of Misfits (how do they know about this in Russia before I did?)

The next day I was meeting Jo and Katie at the station to get the train to Ростов (Rostov), a neighbouring town on the Золотое Кольцо (Golden Ring). I hadn't told Lyudmila I was going as it had been a last-minute decision the night before and I hadn't had chance to mention it as I’d got back late. So when it was approaching 10am and she still wasn't up, I decided to make myself some tea and eat my own cereal. It was then that she appeared and asked me what was going on; I explained I was going out and why I hadn't told her about it, and she made me some breakfast. Things had got better between us over the week (apart from one incident when I forgot it’s forbidden to put clothes on the radiator) and it seemed as if things were almost back to normal. When I left she even wished me a nice day, which, since she hadn't really spoken to me since the money incident, seemed like a huge step forward.

Anyway, I made my way to the station and after hurriedly buying our tickets at the station, Jo, Katie and I headed to Rostov. It’s situated on the banks of the river Неро (Nero) and is one of the oldest towns in Russia. First mentioned in 862, its official name is Ростов Великий (Great Rostov) in order to differentiate it from Ростова-на-Дону, but I find this slightly ironic since, as a tiny town in the middle of Russia, it’s anything but great.

There are, however, several reasons why Rostov gained the title of a Golden Ring town. Firstly, the lake itself is a beautiful landmark. As well as this, the wooden and stone architecture which dominates the town gives it a historical feel (although these days these buildings are largely dilapidated). The most notable features of the town are its attractive Kremlin and beautifully-kept monastery.

We arrived at just past midday and, after waiting for over an hour to buy return tickets, had only a few hours to see everything before our train home. First, we made our way to the Kremlin, which was only a short walk down one straight road. We hardly noticed when we hit the ‘main street’, which consisted of a few shops and cafes built into the city walls. With few cars on the road, a handful of pedestrians and a heavy sky threatening up above, it was like arriving in a ghost town.

The Kremlin, however, offers a welcome contrast to the rest of the town with its peach stone walls and colourful church domes reaching up into the sky. The name ‘Kremlin’ is disputable, since it was the residence of the metropolitan and never an official Kremlin. It was, however, built in the style of a Kremlin (between 1670 and 1683) and is therefore known by this name. After the metropolitan was transferred to Yaroslavl, the Kremlin gradually lost its significance and, since no religious services took place in its churches, it was nearly torn down. However, it was restored in the nineteenth century and has served as a museum since 1883. The exteriors have been preserved in their original form, but the majority of the interior walls have been whitewashed since the devastation caused by the hurricane in 1953. Some of the churches are currently undergoing extensive restoration, including one in which all the icons have been removed from the walls, covered in canvas and stacked on labelled shelves.

After visiting the Kremlin we passed the lake and walked another fifteen minutes to the Спасо-Яковлевский монастырь, which was constructed in 1389. This, in my opinion, is much more attractive than the Kremlin, consisting of a courtyard of buildings and churches built in an almost European style with grand white pillars and well-preserved green domes, some having been built later under the neoclassical influence in the early nineteenth century.

After visiting the monastery we had only an hour to spare before our train, so we walked back into the ‘town centre’ and ducked into a little café to warm ourselves up with some tea and pancakes before braving the rest of the walk to the station. The journey back itself, in a second-class carriage, was pleasant enough and only took only three quarters of an hour. By 6pm we were back in Yaroslavl and I needed to decide what to do with the rest of my evening.

On the trolleybus back from the station, I spontaneously decided to miss the last hour of choir and take up Ben Jovic on his offer to meet him, Lily and some Russians for drinks. By the time I met up with them I only had an hour, but I decided it was better than nothing, and always useful to make more Russian contacts. They were lovely people – two of them, Sasha and Olga, we had met at Lingua Café, the other, Dasha was another friend of theirs who taught English. I had time to stay for one drink before swapping numbers and agreeing to meet up again some other time.

As I was rushing back from the bar to make it to dinner on time, I almost missed Julia, who was walking back from choir with some of the others. She called me back and I stopped for a little chat with them before making my excuses and dashing off. When, breathless, I entered the flat and said my apologies, it turned out that Lyudmila had expected me late anyway and so I wasn't late after all. Whilst I was eating, I had another call from Dennis who I agreed to see at some point next week since, even though he talks really fast and is generally quite odd, it’s all good practice and his heart’s in the right place.

For the rest of the night I decided just to relax, especially since Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was being shown on the TV. It’s quite weird hearing all the characters with different voices and seeing how they translate the sometimes very English jokes. They've kept most of the spells in Latin, which is strange because with Russian being a Slavic rather than a Latin-based language, the sense behind the Latin must surely not come across.

Today everyone seemed in a good mood and we dragged out lunch into drinks until late afternoon. This evening is Strip Dance at the fitness centre, which I’m slightly dubious about but want to at least try nonetheless. After that the plan is to meet at Cocktail Bar as usual, but I've also arranged to meet Vanya there tonight so hopefully we can get some more language practice. Vanya’s interesting to chat to, and he’s definitely not afraid to correct my mistakes either, which is always helpful.

17th November: A Surreal Evening

The last few days have flown by in a blur and I've not had time to stop and think since I last wrote. I’m glad I took a bit of time out on Wednesday to get up-to-date and didn't go out anywhere in the evening for the first time in I don’t know how long.

On Thursday I thought it was about time I joined the others for lunch again, since I hadn't really been around for the rest of the week. By the time I got back I just had time to do my work before grabbing a quick dinner and leaving for choir. We were working on The Lord Bless You and Keep You, which is in English, meaning that for once I know that if I pronounce something differently, it’s me who’s in the right. There is another native English speaker in the choir, an American guy who’s come over to study at a different branch of the university, and everyone was amazed at his pronunciation. When I’d said my version, though, it was decided the English pronunciation should be adopted: another victory for Team GB!

In the break I had to dash off to my exercise class, which was aerobics that day, a class I didn't want to miss. I have to admit, it was a bit of an effort leaving choir early and braving the cold and the rain, but I’m glad I did it. I’d forgotten that the instructor, Irina, is just that little bit crazy, so of course this was not going to be any ordinary aerobics class. It consisted of a mixture of muscle strength work, one part standing, one part floor work (all normal so far) and a cardio part which is probably best described as the kind of mad dancing you do when you’re a kid, all sidesteps and turns and clapping. I've got to say, it was a fast-paced workout, and there’s no mood-booster quite like dancing around like a prat for an hour.

The next day, I didn't go to exercise at all since Julia, the girl I’d met at choir, had got me a free ticket to watch her play the balalaika in the National Folk Orchestra. She’d given me a huge list of possible buses and marshrutkas to take, but even after asking my teacher where to get them from I still ended up standing at the wrong stop. Eventually, I managed to jump on a number 80, asking the driver if he could tell me when my stop, Индустриальная (Industrial Stop) was, since I had absolutely no idea where I was going. At the next stop, a lad about my age jumped out of the front seat and came to talk to me, interested to know where I was from and what I was doing there. Worried about missing my stop, I was distracted and not really fully engaged in the conversation, but he was undeterred and proceeded to chat to me for the entire journey. In the end he took my Facebook details and my number and said he’d show me some of the sights around Yaroslavl.

When we arrived at his stop, he told me where mine was and said I could ring him if I had any problems. It so happened that the surly driver came through at the last minute by telling me we’d arrived at my stop (in the typical Russian way, of course: “Girl, this is Industrial Stop.”) It was at this point I became slightly alarmed, since I seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, with no sign of Дом Културы Радий, or anything resembling a concert hall, in sight. Nonetheless, I phoned Julia, as she’d agreed to meet me and walk me to the concert, and in less than five minutes she was there, out of breath from having run the whole way, not wanting to keep me waiting. She was cheerful as usual and not at all annoyed that I was over ten minutes late.

It was no wonder she was out of breath, the concert hall being a good few minutes’ walk away and ridden with deep potholes and muddy puddles. Once there, she showed me upstairs to the rehearsal room and introduced me to everyone; it seemed almost her whole family were members of the orchestra. The orchestra was actually set up by her grandfather, who conducted it in 1986 but now plays the in the balalaika section. Her grandmother and her little six-year-old brother are also in it, and her older brother, who’s eighteen, used to be in it too but seems to have realised it’s not exactly a cool hobby and was reluctantly there as an audience-member instead. Julia was so excited to tell me all about the orchestra and show me all the old photos, I felt awful when my phone went off; it was Dennis from the bus, wanting to know if I’d found the place all right. Bless.

I talked to her grandmother for a bit, explaining that it was unlikely that I knew the two people she knew from Exeter, since there are over five thousand people at the university alone. Then, as Julia was showing me how to play a chord on the balalaika, her grandmother came over again and asked me if I knew a man called Richard Bower – the conductor of the Exeter University Symphony Orchestra! Unbelievable, that of all the people in England she could know, she’s friends with the man who conducts my old orchestra. I’m to say ‘hi’ for her, apparently.

Soon it was time for the concert, so Julia led me to the main hall, which was laid out like a theatre, with red tiered seating and a raised stage. The concert itself was fantastic; it was presented as a traditional Russian story about the passing of the seasons and the seasonal balls, by two hosts in glamorous Russian costumes. The musicians were talented and enthusiastic, and the music itself was lively and uplifting. The performance even included solos from male singers, an accordion and a strange instrument I've never seen before – kind of like a horizontal harp struck by beaters. It was a real authentic Russian experience and I felt really privileged to have had the opportunity.

After the concert, Julia and her brother Vanya and I walked around the area a bit and chatted. Vanya speaks unbelievably fast and is sometimes impossible to understand, as is his Russian sense of humour, but he seems like good fun and wants our friends to meet on Monday at Cocktail Bar. Apparently there’s a Yaroslavl cocktail I have to try; it sounds lethal.

By then it was getting on for 9 o’clock and my hands were beginning to freeze, so I decided I’d best be getting back if I wanted to meet the others in town. On the marshrutka back a girl sat next to me and, seeing my bear gloves, showed them to her son. I asked him if he liked them and from then, a conversation started between the girl and me, whose name was Olga. It turned out we were getting off at the same stop, and not only that, but she lived on my road. She asked me to come over and, taken aback by this sudden invitation, I asked her if she meant right now. She said of course, if I wanted to and wasn't busy. All the usual doubts went through my head before I remembered what I’d read about Russian hospitality and what my teachers had told me, that Russians find it quite normal to make new friends in this way, particularly with foreigners.

Still dubious as it went against my instincts and everything I’d been told when I was growing up, I told myself that since she lived on my road and had a ten-year-old son, it would be fine. I accepted but added as a precaution that I couldn't stay long as I was meeting my friends. When we were nearly at her house I had a message saying people were on their way into town, and started to explain that I couldn't visit after all. Olga seemed disappointed and said I could just stay for a cup of tea as I looked freezing, but she was ready to walk me back to my house if I wanted. With a sudden burst of impulsiveness I agreed, and before I knew it, I was in her warm little flat, taking off my shoes and accepting a woolly polo neck and a brand new pair of socks. She had me put on some little silver slippers with pink feathers and asked me if I’d prefer tea or something else.

After much deliberation, not wanting to put her out by getting her to open a bottle of wine or drinking her favourite spirit, I let her make me her usual, which happened to be Malibu (which I love) and milk (an unexpected but effective combination). Then we just ended up talking for hours about our lives and our interests, and her little son Italii, who she’d had when she was eighteen. She’d divorced since then and now it was just the two of them, and they seemed more like best friends than mother and son. Anyway, we got on really well and she invited me to come round any time, since it couldn't be much fun living with an elderly landlady.

When it was nearly midnight I decided I really should go as everyone was expecting me at Oktoberfest, and Olga insisted on walking me there; she was worried I’d get lost or get into trouble. On the way, I was getting messages from Dennis and she was getting calls from her new boyfriend, and we got talking about guys. The guy she’s seeing, from what I can gather, has a shady career and has just come out of prison after eight years. I asked her if she was scared of him and she said simply, “He doesn't hit women”. Just in case I’d forgotten what a complete other world this place is.

We reached Oktoberfest and since she didn't want to stay, we said our goodbyes and agreed to meet over the weekend (after all, I’d have to see her again sometime; I was wearing her clothes). I stayed with everyone in Oktoberfest for one drink before a smaller group of us moved on to Your Бар. I’d forgotten what a good bar that is – good music, good prices, dance floor – since the whole fiasco, but I think you’re pretty safe there as long as you’re not in a huge group. At around 3.30 I walked back with Jojo and James, after a surreal but successful night.

14th November: Playing Catch-up

Coming back to Yaroslavl after a week in the comparatively balmy Ukraine was a real anticlimax. Admittedly, although there was still snow on the ground when we arrived in the early hours of Sunday morning, the temperature had definitely improved since we’d left. But the fact was, we were now back for six weeks of monotony with only our eventual homecoming to look forward to – or so it seems sometimes, at any rate.

Sunday was spent unpacking, sorting out washing, tidying up and writing this blog, as well as my usual choir rehearsal. We've started the repertoire for the Christmas concert now, which takes place on 21^st December, the day before I finally fly home. Singing in Russian is great practice, but we've also got some songs in English, a verse of Silent Night in German and even a Georgian orthodox prayer, which is beautiful. I've made a few friends there already too, including a sweet girl called Julia who I’m going to meet for coffee on Friday.

As for the rest of the week so far, it’s been similarly uneventful. On Monday I was able to get in touch with my parents for a surprisingly successful Skype conversation (although video did give out at some point) and catch up with some work before my exercise class, which was Latin dance. After much deliberation on the best approach, I also finally decided to pay Lyudmila a bit extra to do my washing, in the hopes of appeasing her and improving her now-tainted attitude towards me. She did only seem mildly pleased at the extra 30r but I think she would have hated me even more if I’d have tried to pay her the price agreed by the university. I decided for the sake of 30r it would be better to try and restore the peace, since the atmosphere was pretty miserable and doing nothing to improve my low mood.

On Tuesday I found I inexplicably had a mountain of university work to do before heading to the Lingua Café social at the university at 5.30. I was with a huge group on the Russian-English table and the topic this week was hobbies, which everyone could talk about fairly easily. My hobby-obsession soon came out and no one could quite believe I sing, play the piano, violin and guitar, ride horses, go to the gym and write (when I have the time). Typically, I had to rush off after that to my gym class, which was ‘силовая программа' (strength programme) without weights, which basically amounts to a mixture of aerobics and muscle-strengthening exercises like lunges and squats.

Today I experienced a bit of variety from my routine in the form of a television interview I was asked to do for a member of the student media team of Yaroslavl University. There were three of us in total and we were all interviewed one after the other in front of a professional camera with lighting and a microphone. The questions were all based around our study of Russian and languages in general, and our impressions of Yaroslavl and the university. It was a nerve-wracking experience but I’m sure it’s all good practice.

This afternoon I've finally managed to tackle the rest of my work and talk to Will, and I feel like I’m up-to-date with everything now, which is a nice feeling. I've also finally managed to successfully submit my application to the University of Murcia, which is a huge relief after all the trauma I've had. This should give me a bit of time to relax between everything I've got on for the rest of the week. 

10th November: Return to Yaroslavl

Sure enough, at 5.30am we were woken by the Ukrainian border guards asking to see our documents. This time, not being in my underwear and with all of us in the same situation with our migration cards, it was considerably less stressful, and the Ukrainian checks seemed much less strict on the way out (they were probably happy to get rid of us). The second check on the Russian side was a different matter, and they weren't at all happy that we didn't have migration cards, even though it was the Russian authorities who had failed to give them back to us in the first place. At one stage, when the conductor was complaining about being made late, we even heard one of the guards say “Well, that’s their problem.” Whose problem, exactly?! Eventually we were given new migration cards and, under intense nagging, filled them in as quickly as we could.

That night I had the most vivid dreams I've had in a long time, waking myself up once with screaming and once with laughter, something I've never experienced before. It could have been down to exhaustion, or the extreme heat caused by the broken air conditioning, or maybe just being in Russia and the Ukraine had finally sent me crazy. Either way, I managed to lie in the next morning until gone 10.30, when we all scrounged together some breakfast and chatted for a while before the others napped again and I passed the time reading my book.

Even though our entertainment was limited to the occasional arrival of peddlers selling bizarre paraphernalia such as manicure sets, stationary and smoked fish, the day went by surprisingly quickly and only very near the end, when the cabin had become unbearably hot, did it begin to feel like the twenty-three hour journey it was. Emerging into the fresh air in Moscow was incredible. Now we just had to find transport back to Yaroslavl.

When we got to the Yaroslavskii train station, the only trains remaining cost 750r, which convinced Ben and Alexia, who had already been considering staying the night in Moscow, that they would find a hostel and go back to Yaroslavl the following evening instead. Sean and I took the offer of a nearby minibus driver to be taken right to our doors for 500r (£10) each, which seemed like a pretty good deal.

An hour later, stuck in horrendous Moscow traffic, it didn't seem like such a good deal after all and we were beginning to doubt our decision to go back to Yaroslavl that night after all. Nonetheless, as soon as we were out of the area the journey was quick and comfortable. We even stopped in a bar halfway for tea, snacks and beer and got to know the driver and fellow passengers. We got talking about our landladies and the extortionate prices we were paying; one of the women, who was a realtor, literally wouldn't believe it at first. By the time we were pulling into my road we were all bantering about my cruel landlady and wondering if she would let me in, as she’d taken my keys off me. Sean walked me to the door and thankfully, Lyudmila answered the intercom and opened the doors. She didn't seem exactly over the moon to see me, but she reciprocated my polite questions and when I got to my room, I found she’d changed my sheets and towels and put my cuddly horse by my pillow. I was still apprehensive about how things would be, but in a way, it did feel good to be back.

9th November: A Stressful Experience, an Amusing Anecdote

The next day we managed to pack up and leave by 8.45, not bad going for us. The walk into town with all our bags was a challenge, especially since wheeled suitcases are definitely not designed with huge flights of stone steps and uneven, potholed tarmac in mind. We made it eventually though and, as luck would have it, a bus going to Lidavia Palace (or, if you’re interested: Лівадійський палац in Ukrainian, Ливадийский дворец in Russain and Livadiya sarayı in Crimean Tartar) was waiting at the stop.

Typically, the palace didn't open till ten, leaving us with twenty minutes to wander the grounds and look at the views over the coast. As soon as it opened we made our way to the ticket booth and were able to get student tickets even though our student cards were from Russia. At any rate, the visit was worth more than the meagre entry fee, as the palace was steeped in interesting Ukrainian history. The estate was formerly granted to Lambros Katsonis before becoming a possession of the Potocki family and then of the Russian imperial family, who had a large palace, a small palace and a church built there, and used it as a summer residence in the 1860s. Alexander II often visited the estate, whilst his successor Alexander III lived and died in the smaller palace. Following Alexander III’s death, his son Nicholas had both palaces torn down and replaced with a larger building, which was influenced by the Renaissance palaces he and his wife had seen during their travels in Italy. The palace as it stands today was completed in 1911.

Most importantly, however, was the role the palace played in contemporary history as the location of the Yalta Conference, February 4-11, 1945, the second of three wartime conferences between Britain, the United States and the Soviet Union to discuss Europe’s post-war reorganisation. The other conferences were held in Tehran in 1943 and in Potsdam in July 1945. Consequently, not only did the self-guided palace tour include information boards regarding the palace’s nineteenth-century history, but also interesting details about the decisions that were made in each room and even the very places where President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Prime Minister Winston Churchill and General Secretary Joseph Stalin sat around the conference table.

After we had made our way to the exit via the typically strategically-placed gift shops selling all the usual tat that no one can possibly ever actually need, we made our way back to the bus stop, where we sat on a bus and waited for it to fill up enough to depart. Somehow we missed our stop and ended up at the central bus station, where we were unable to get our planned bus. After bartering unsuccessfully with several taxi drivers and even getting in one taxi before realising he had misunderstood where we wanted to go, we took an alternative bus going to the Ai-Petri mountain peak, (Ukrainian: Ай-Петрі, Russian: Ай-Петри, Crimean Tatar: Ay Petri), where you can ride the longest cable car in Europe.

Everything was against us that day; not only did we have to wait for over fifteen minutes for the bus to leave, but the journey was long and slow through the mountains – far longer than anticipated. When our bus broke down in the middle of nowhere, it felt like there was no hope. We waited another fifteen minutes before another bus came, and by the time we actually reached the cable car it was 2.45, only fifteen minutes before the time we had planned to set off for the station from the centre of Yalta, which was an hour away.

Just as we were debating whether we had time to even go up the cable car after all, our question was answered for us by the manager announcing that the cable car wouldn't operate until full, which meant waiting for another group of people to come along, and who knew when that might be. In despair, we asked if any taxis were going from the area. Before we knew it we’d agreed to a price of 100hrn and were being led over to a nearby car by a gruff middle-aged man, who emptied the boot of crates and loaded it up with our luggage. It was only when we were already on the way and hurtling through the precarious mountain roads that we realised we had just got into the car of some random Ukrainian.

As we were driving into Yalta the driver came up with a new suggestion; he would drive us all the way to Simferopol for 45hrn (£38). Since we’d paid 35hrn on the way there anyway, this seemed like a pretty good deal, and as soon as we realised, we snapped it up. It was at this point that I realised we were already red-lining on petrol and wondered whether it would be rude to point it out, since the driver was probably already aware of this fact. I decided to preserve the peace since, by all logic, he should know his car well enough to know after how many miles the petrol tank would actually run dry…

We arrived in Simferopol at 4.30, early and all in one piece – our risk had paid off. We had just under an hour and a half to gather supplies and grab something to eat before heading to the train, which sounds a lot longer than it actually turned out to be, by the time we had found a half-decent food shop which sold more than bread and meat. I could only find bread, crisps and cereal, and the guys ended up buying a whole roast chicken.

On entering the station we discovered that our train left at 6.20 and not 6pm as we’d thought, leaving us a bit of time to make our way to the platform, laden down with our bags of clothes, supplies and McDonald’s. Sitting in our cabin and scoffing down the crappy fried food we’d bought was a feeling close to elation. It was at this point that the conductor came round and told us, to our confusion, that we had to buy eight teabags for our cabin, despite the fact that Sean had brought teabags and a cup with him. It was according to some план, which I can only assume is something distinctly Russian or Ukrainian as I can’t begin to get my head around it.

By 9.30 we were all exhausted and ready to sleep, especially with the prospect of an early-morning border check looming on the horizon. 

8th November: A Near-Death Experience in the Crimean Mountains

We all managed to get a surprisingly good night’s sleep and it wasn't as difficult as expected to get up at 7am the next day. Jesus had left a cute message on the door the night before saying “Tomorrow in the morning at 8.00 am we are going to the mountains join us!” – and who were we to turn down such an offer?

By 8.10 we were out the hostel, the four of us, Jesus and another guy from Kiev called Oleg, who happened to have worked and fallen out with Achim. Everywhere we go, people seem to know Achim – even Mink, Alexia’s friend who we’d met up with in Kiev, knew him.

The sun was shining beautifully and there was already warmth in the air. We stopped off to get food supplies for the trip before walking through town to where the mountains began. From the outset, the ascent was steep and I immediately regretted bringing my thick winter coat. There was nothing I could do about my fur-lined boots, which had no grip either; they were the only shoes I had with me. For the first time in months I was outside in just my vest top, feeling the warm sun on my skin. At 10.30, when we stopped for brunch at a picturesque stream, sitting on rocks overlooking the town, it really did feel like a summer holiday, and we felt happier than we’d felt in a long time. We ate bread, crisps and vegan cheese which Jesus offered us, along with loose-leaf tea using boiled water from the stream. It was idyllic.

An hour later we began our ascent to the first peak, from which point we would decide whether to continue or turn back. Already we were a long way up and although the vertigo was terrifying, it was worth it for the views. At the very end of the crag was a wooden cross – too much temptation for Sean, who without second thought stripped down to his boxers and began to pose as Jesus. Meanwhile, Oleg was taking his life in his hand (and mine with it) climbing onto the outermost ridges and trying to convince me it was safe to do the same.

When Jesus suggested we went to the top, which was miles above us, we thought he was exaggerating so agreed without much thought. We stopped at various peaks to take photos (Oleg at one stage getting over-enthusiastic and jumping in to direct an entire photo shoot of Alexia and me) and we were all enjoying ourselves. Three hours later, though, it became apparent that Jesus had been deadly serious, and that he actually expected us to go all the way to the top. We were already beginning to tire by this stage from heat and exertion, and the peak was definitely more than “five minutes away” as we were constantly being promised. It was approaching three o’clock by now and the summit didn’t seem to be getting any closer, whereas dusk was fast approaching.

Finally at 3.30 we reached the top. We just had time to catch our breath and take some photos before beginning the long descent, which was even more treacherous than the way up, the route being steep and not a proper path. Oleg took over my bag again and Jesus helped me on the trickiest bits where it was particularly steep and my fashion boots couldn't cope. The ascent had taken us over six hours and it seemed like we would never find the way back in time before pitch darkness. Soon we were lighting our way with cigarette lighters and mobile phones, being careful not to trip over rocks and roots, and warning each other as we came across them. It became like a team-building exercise, everyone helping each other; at the end of the day, none of us wanted to die in a Ukrainian forest.

Somehow, at 6.30 we finally reached the road. We’d made it! It had been an ordeal in the end but at least we could have a sense of achievement at what we’d done. Jesus and Oleg wanted to grab some food at the supermarket, but after we had seen the meagre selection we decided to go to the nearby café. When this turned out to be over-priced, we left and went in search of a cash point as none of us had enough money to pay for food and the hostel. It wasn’t long before we were arguing and so Alexia and I decided to leave Sean and Ben to do their thing whilst we went back and waited for them at the hostel.

It was nearly 9pm by the time they reappeared and by this stage we were all starving hungry and exhausted. We dragged ourselves into town only to discover that most of the cafes were already closing. We were beginning to lose hope when we came across another branch of Apelsin, which we dived into with relief. Having been there already, we were able to order straight away and over dinner we began to feel slightly more normal and were able to get into our usual routine of debating whatever random topic came to mind, this time the morality of the meat and animal products industry. Thankfully, no one took too much offense this time, for once, and we were able to order the bill and leave without anything kicking off.

Once back at the hostel we chatted to some Americans for a while but didn't stay up long, knowing we would have another early start the next day to be able to see a couple of things before leaving for the train station. We were exhausted but so glad we’d made the trip that day.

7th November: Journey to the Crimea

Wednesday was Alexia’s birthday, and we woke up slowly just after 9am. The conductor seemed to be in a much better mood by then and brought us hot tea for just 4.50hrn (35p) each. At around 10am we pulled into Simferopol Station, where we would have to buy return tickets to Moscow for the end of the week, which already seemed disappointingly close.

After a lot of hassle with debit cards and decisions, we bought return tickets for 6pm that Friday at a price of 1030Hr (£90) each. It was a stretch for all of us but we had little choice; we could have bought third-class tickets for £30 less but the thought of twenty-three hours in those conditions was unbearable. Half an hour later and considerably less-off, we made our way outside and began to barter with taxi drivers, eventually settling on a price of 35hrn (£30) to Yalta, an hour-and-a-half’s drive away. Just as in Kiev, there were old ladies outside too, holding up advertisement boards and loudly trying to sell rooms in apartments to tourists. The Crimea is a popular tourist destination with the Russians, Yalta in particular as it’s a sunny seaside town within relatively easy reach of Russia. The Crimea actually used to be part of Russia, and most people speak Russian rather than the Ukrainian which the government tries to enforce. The signs are nearly all in Ukrainian and Russian, and sometimes even in English following the EURO Championships. Despite the prevalence of the Russian language, however, the feel of the place is still distinctly more European than Russian, an interesting twist.

When we’d finally got through the mountains and into Yalta, our driver realised he didn’t actually know how to get to the address on the leaflet of the hostel we’d picked up from Dascha, so we swapped cars for no extra cost. This guy turned out not to have much of a clue either, and his SatNav, which was ‘showing him nonsense’ was useless in the face of the maze of windy streets and yet another address that didn’t seem to make sense. Luckily, he seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing, and was joking with us about it. Once we even went up a one-way street, which he nonchalantly acknowledged whilst hurtling round the corners at full-speed. The funny thing was, the drivers coming the other way didn't seem to have any objections to this clearly reckless behaviour or even to see anything unusual in it.

We stopped a few times to ask for directions in the usual abrupt, Russian way (opening with “Tell me, where is…” and carrying on in much the same vein). Eventually, we found the tiny side-street leading to Sobaka Hostel, said our goodbyes and wandered off down the hill, hoping there would be space for us in this bizarre little place. We reached the correct number but still couldn't see any sign of the hostel until two young guys, who had been watching from the third-floor balcony, shouted down casually, “Are you looking for a hostel?” Thank God.

The owner, a skinny, long-haired nomad type called Simon who, for reasons which will soon become clear, soon became known to us as Jesus, showed us into the hostel, which was tiny and once again, more like a home than a hostel. Once we’d showered and got ready he showed us the way into town and warned us to remember where we’d gone as “everything looks very different at night”. Oo-er…

The way into town, down a tree-lined avenue along a canal, was lovely and gave us the impression of being on a European sea-side holiday. There were stalls selling arts, crafts and souvenirs, and even palm trees. When we reached the seafront it felt like paradise; the air was even warmer than it had been in Kiev and the feeling of the sea breeze was blissful. We walked to a wooden gazebo overlooking the sea and the shops and restaurants along the seafront, whose lights had just begun to twinkle in the dusk. We wandered all along the boulevard, and for Alexia’s birthday we chose a restaurant called Apelsin, set in a raised wooden ship over the sea with views all across the harbour. We ate gorgeous food and Crimean wine, and even though it was getting a little chilly by then, it felt like a proper summer holiday.

Over dinner we had yet more debates, this time about the priority physical health seems to take over mental health in free medical care systems, and in particular about the situation in Spain. It was nearly ten o’clock by the time we left, and on the way back we decided to stop for coffee at a quirky-looking place on the main avenue. Afterwards we bought a bottle of red wine to share at the hostel (I decided that even though I don’t really like red, I didn't mind drinking it since it was Alexia’s birthday). We were all happy by this stage and things only got funnier when Alexia fell down a ditch after numerous warnings from Sean. When we got back to the hostel we were the only people still awake, and we chatted and drank a while before heading to bed; it was going to be a long day tomorrow.