It’s the evening of my last Sunday in
Yaroslavl, and since last writing, I’ve enjoyed yet more experiences of the
real Russia, getting my last snatch of everyday life here.
Thursday was an average day, ending only with
my usual exercise class. On Friday, however, the Vishnevskys had another Folk
Orchestra concert and said I was welcome to go as one of the family. The event
was celebrating the 75th anniversary of Дом Културы «Радий», the local concert hall, and since
the orchestra was first on the bill, after they had finished their pieces we
were invited upstairs where a small party was being held amongst the orchestra.
Around fifteen of us sat around a long table and made toasts with wine and
vodka, accompanied by salami, cheese, bread, fish and marinated carrots and
cabbage. When one of the orchestra members got up and started to boom out a
heavily-accented version of ‘My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean’, I couldn’t help
but join in, and we soon split into harmony and were met by enthusiastic
applause. Everyone told me I wasn’t allowed to go home; they could do with a
singer like me in the orchestra, they said.
I had planned to go into town to meet my
friends from university but soon realized I would miss the last marshrutka.
Luckily, one of the guys there, Anton, was going in the same direction so
offered to let me go in his taxi. However, as the time started to creep on I
thought it would be better not to rush and break up the party, and decided to
stay. By this time we had moved to the bar, where another table had been
prepared, and before I knew it anything vegetarian was being thrust
enthusiastically in my direction. At one point I was even asked to make a
speech, which it was agreed Julia and I could do together – I made a toast in
English and she translated it. Soon we’d moved on from the food and had got up
to dance to the lighthearted Russian music playing loudly on the radio.
Everyone was in high spirits and the dancing was lively and carefree; I had
landed on a real Russian party, and it was great.
It was around 1.30am when everyone began to go
their separate ways. As there wasn’t room in the taxi to take Julia home, it
was agreed that she and I would stay over at the grandparents’ house, which was
only two minutes’ walk away. At around -18 degrees, it was bitterly cold and
even such a short walk was enough to freeze you right down to your bones. When
we reached the flat, there was a great fuss over making sure I had everything I
needed; the sofa bed was laid out and made, I was given one of Julia Senior’s
nightdresses and offered everything from cups of tea to a full meal. Julia and
I chatted for a while and she asked me about sleepovers in England, because
they don’t really do them here. She wanted to know anything – and she was
amazed when I said we got into our pyjamas, watched girly films and ate
chocolate and ice cream. It was a shame I wouldn’t get to show her a proper
English sleepover before I went home.
The next morning we woke up late, and there was
more fuss over what to give me for breakfast until I was finally able to insist
that cereal was absolutely fine. This turned out to cause even more trouble as,
when I poured out the cereal, it had little bugs crawling in it! Stepan’s
reaction seemed more of resigned disappointment than shocked horror, as mine
was, as, apparently this isn’t that uncommon here. After that it was agreed
that I would have some bread with homemade jam and honey.
After breakfast, Julia and I went into her room
and watched a German series she really liked, called Türkisch für Anfänger – but dubbed over in
Russian. We sat there for hours until it was announced that lunch was ready –
something I hadn’t expected at all, having been prepared to go back to the flat
soon. It turned out they had put on a full three-course affair – a soup
starter, followed by salad, followed by pasta, accompanied by homemade wine and
компот, a thick Russian berry drink. Then, as if their incredible hospitality
wasn’t enough, Julia Senior gave me a thick cardigan and a beautiful crème
shawl ‘to remember them by’. I was extremely touched and when we parted at the
bus stop, couldn’t thank them enough or show them how glad I was that I had met
them.
By the time I got back it was already 4pm and
nearly time to get ready to go out. Only Natasha was in the flat. She was doing
housework and apologized profusely for disturbing me with the vacuum cleaner,
even though I assured her she wasn’t. She also informed me she was putting some
washing on so I should put anything I needed doing in the basket. I’m amazed
how easily they’ve let me into their family, letting me come and go as I
please, encouraging me to take whatever food or anything else I want, even
doing my washing for me. On Wednesday night Natasha even told me when it was my
‘bed time’!
Throughout the rest of the day, Natasha kept
coming in to tell me little things (such as how Anton had told her how much he
liked me and how disappointed he was he hadn’t got my number) or to give me
advice on things, such as how to dress for the weather, which is said to get
down to -26 next week! She told me once again to help myself to any of the food
she’d cooked, as well as showing me a little brain-training book which she lent
me to try. When I announced I was going out she gave me all the phone numbers I
could possibly need and explained that although she wouldn’t try and control
me, she would try and keep me safe. I was told to call at any time I needed
anything.
I thought I’d managed well with the marshrutkas
until we hit a huge traffic jam on the dual carriageway. There had been an
accident further down and the traffic tailed back for miles. A guy who’d come
up to me at the bus stop and had been talking to me ever since, whose name was
Danny, suggested walking the rest of the way – a good idea in principle,
forgetting the fact that it was -18 degrees outside, as I did. It took much
longer than the predicted twenty minutes to get to Your Bar, and all I could
think about was the fact that my fingers were presently at a serious risk of
actually catching frost bite; I had no feeling in them at all. Having suffered
with Raynaud’s disease for years, I’m used to losing the feeling in my
extremities, but this was the first time I’d genuinely doubted whether I would
ever get the feeling back. Meanwhile, enthusiastic Danny was asking me if I
believed in love at first sight and declaring his undying love and devotion. Why
is everyone here so mental?
When I finally arrived at Your Bar, I was
frozen through. The temperature change was extreme and after a few minutes on
the dance floor I knew something wasn’t right and went to sit down. Suddenly my
entire body was overcome with shock and I found myself shaking and hyperventilating,
tears streaming down my cheeks. My friends rushed over to help me, Joe putting
me in his warm jumper and the girls rushing me to the toilets to run my hands
under warm water. Nastya and Alexia stayed with me the whole time and soon the
whole group, as well as some of the staff, had realized what was going on and were coming in and out of the toilets, everyone
offering conflicting advice and trying to help. When I came out, Joe told me to
follow him to the table, where a cup of hot, sugary tea was waiting for me.
Within half an hour the episode was over, and although I still managed to have
a good night, I’d certainly learnt my lesson.
At the end of
the night I called a taxi, going against Vanya’s advice to order it a little
walk away to get a cheaper fare and instead, ordering it right to the bar –
which still only cost 160r (£3.20). The taxi driver, who didn’t seem to want to
talk at first, turned out to be very friendly once I’d got a conversation
going. We talked for the entire journey and I jumped out of the car with the
satisfying feeling of realisation that I was now able to hold proper
conversations with people here without a second thought.
Today, I woke up
late again and spent some time trying to get to grips with the new Windows 8
Vanya’s installed for me – in Russian – which took quite a while by the time I’d
reinstalled everything. After that I settled down to do a bit of work, interrupted
only by a few phone calls from friends and a couple from Danny (as well as a
text saying simply: “I love you! By Danny.” In the afternoon I went to the
supermarket and chatted to Ivan Senior while he made us some fish. He started
off again on the lecture about my not eating meat, but I’ve learnt by now to
let it go over my head. After all, it’s a cultural thing; they just don’t
really understand vegetarianism here. Another cultural thing is the custom of
guests being able to help themselves to everything in the house – another favourite
topic of Ivan’s. He really seems quite disgusted at our British restraint and his
tone is sometimes intimidatingly didactic, but I know he’s only trying to help.
Anyway, it’s the
end of another weekend and tomorrow begins my last week in Yaroslavl and in
Russia. Let’s hope it’s a good one.
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