12th September: Here and now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8th September: Keeping busy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6th September: A little knowledge is a dangerous thing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4th September: How to avoid an international incident

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3rd September: A new kind of normality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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