Again I sit here with strong coffee to kick start my day, and an hour or so before I need to jump on the bus for the 15-minute ride to university. Bus trips, once so scary, (where am I going, how do I pay, how do I get the darn thing to stop) have slipped into a routine without me really noticing- I iPod it up and read through my phonetic exercises (which are a collection of children’s poems, with titles like, ‘Pink Rabbit’ and ‘Puppy’- if anyone wants a rendition, my teacher told me I should read them over Skype to my friends). The news is on television, and as far as I can gather at the moment it is a story about berry picking in the east. The news programs in Russia are very interesting- much more gory than in Australia; I often glance over just in time to catch bullet wounds or men being arrested in their tighty-whities after a house bust (why oh why?). In fact, this morning a sleepy Lucy was greeted with a full-on film of someone giving birth. Goodbye, lethargy. (Hello not wanting breakfast).
My experience with the Russian public seems to oscillate between wildly hospitable (come-eat-my-food, marry-my-son, move-in-forever) and downright nasty (glaring, sneered answers, why-would-I-help-you-I-only-work-here). My Russian hostmum explained this as Russians simply not being used to the idea of ‘service’, and their attitude to foreigners as a throw-back to the communist days when the West were irresponsible capitalists destroying the world. I also think, in my experience, that Australians are just very friendly, and I tend to expect the same in everyone else.
Ran the full gauntlet of nasty on Monday. Searching for a tranquil retreat in which to study of an afternoon, I hit upon the Russian State Library- a monster of a building, surrounded with pigeons flitting around a state of Dostoyevsky, men sitting on steps, shooting the breeze with litre bottles of beer and chain-smoking, and literary types adjusting their glasses as they head through the imposing wooden doors with their readers cards at the ready. To obtain a readers card was my first mission, and after producing passport and conquering the Russian form I had my confidence shattered by an exchange with the stern lady behind the desk in which I understood nothing. She was unwilling to make any allowance for this and shooed me away with an aggressive flick of the wrist. Once I figured out that I needed to go to another window, then another building, it seemed I was finally set- card in hand, I swung through those intimidating wooden doors and prepared to get my study on. However, the stern patronesses of the library were not done with me yet- another, even more unforgiving than the first, demanded I surrender my bag to the cloakroom. All very well and good, but she failed to explain that I actually was not allowed to take anything into the library. This led to many unpackings, repackings, shook fingers, tsking, shook heads, before I finally deduced that this would not be the study retreat I was envisaging if I wasn’t even able to take my books in. However, once I got inside (figured I might as well have a look) I was mollified by the warren of ancient reading rooms, shelves upon shelves of every sort of book imaginable, amazing marble staircases and the respectful hush to the air- that would have been very conducive to study had I been allowed to. Study plans in disarray, I retreated to Alexandrosvky Gardens, which hug one side of the massive Kremlin, to eat my feelings- more hommus and black rye, sitting near the tomb on the Unknown Soldier and allowing the afternoon sun to sooth my dejected self.
My text book, as most foreign language text books seem to do, (and logically so) subliminally presses the importance of immersing oneself as fully as possible in the country- with texts such as, “John goes to the movies all the time, and always listens to the radio- he already understands Russian quite well. Tom does not go to the movies or watch television, he still understands Russian very poorly” (maybe subliminal is not the right word). With the urging of my textbook and a spare Tuesday evening, I decided to take a leaf out of John’s book and head to the cinema. Successfully bought a ticket by replying ‘Da’ (yes) to every question the cashier asked, and settled in for the dubbed version of ‘Monte Carlo’, an American film on the not side of the enjoyable scale. And while I got the main story, I understood almost none of the dialogue- I didn’t realize how much my understanding was tied to being able to read or at least know the context of what was going on. At least there was a bag of blood plums and a pleasantly cool walk home through the misty park waiting at the end, even if it was accompanied by the knowledge that I have a long, long way to go.
At least my skills have extended to the absolutely crucial ability to decode my Russian horoscope- definitely the most mystical homework I have ever been given. Hot mushroom soup aided the translation effort, and while I struggled at the movie game at least I can be comforted by the fact that, ‘In spite of the fact that progress on the career ladder is not possible for you right now, you are to be envied on the love front- this week you will meet an interesting person, and develop a relationship with them as in the movies.’ Oh la la! As a side note about movies- in Russia, Harry Potter translates as Garry Potter. Must say, it loses some of its dramatic effect when you have a dubbed Voldemort rasping “Garrrrrrry Potter”. Hence the title of this entry!
Food here has been great so far- my hostess actually knew what vegan meant, and has been amazing at cooking things I can eat, when I’m not cooking up a storm for myself. Planning on picking up some recipes to bring home! However, it is obvious veganism doesn’t really exist in Russia- buying food on the street is pretty much impossible, and my teacher often makes not-so-veiled references to it being a ridiculous choice- the reason I was hungry just before lunch, was because I didn’t eat the ‘right things’, and tired after a run was because ‘I wasn’t getting enough energy’. Also, fresh fruit and veges aren't as available or as high quality as they are at home, and prices are always interesting- broccoli comes out at $7 a kilo, but bananas only $1.
John from the textbook also advocates Russian friends (“John has made many friends already, he was invited to a housewarming and had lots of fun practicing Russian.”) so where John leads, I shall follow. Thus, I have blind friendship dates lined up for the next 3 nights, and a bouldering/climbing adventure set for the weekend. So if I disappear, please call Ramon, Ana, Natasha or Sari and ask them where they’ve dumped my body. Until next time, (as long as I am not carried off into the sunset by my horoscope predicted lover or sold off by one of my new friends), до свидания-Из России с любовью.
My experience with the Russian public seems to oscillate between wildly hospitable (come-eat-my-food, marry-my-son, move-in-forever) and downright nasty (glaring, sneered answers, why-would-I-help-you-I-only-work-here). My Russian hostmum explained this as Russians simply not being used to the idea of ‘service’, and their attitude to foreigners as a throw-back to the communist days when the West were irresponsible capitalists destroying the world. I also think, in my experience, that Australians are just very friendly, and I tend to expect the same in everyone else.
Ran the full gauntlet of nasty on Monday. Searching for a tranquil retreat in which to study of an afternoon, I hit upon the Russian State Library- a monster of a building, surrounded with pigeons flitting around a state of Dostoyevsky, men sitting on steps, shooting the breeze with litre bottles of beer and chain-smoking, and literary types adjusting their glasses as they head through the imposing wooden doors with their readers cards at the ready. To obtain a readers card was my first mission, and after producing passport and conquering the Russian form I had my confidence shattered by an exchange with the stern lady behind the desk in which I understood nothing. She was unwilling to make any allowance for this and shooed me away with an aggressive flick of the wrist. Once I figured out that I needed to go to another window, then another building, it seemed I was finally set- card in hand, I swung through those intimidating wooden doors and prepared to get my study on. However, the stern patronesses of the library were not done with me yet- another, even more unforgiving than the first, demanded I surrender my bag to the cloakroom. All very well and good, but she failed to explain that I actually was not allowed to take anything into the library. This led to many unpackings, repackings, shook fingers, tsking, shook heads, before I finally deduced that this would not be the study retreat I was envisaging if I wasn’t even able to take my books in. However, once I got inside (figured I might as well have a look) I was mollified by the warren of ancient reading rooms, shelves upon shelves of every sort of book imaginable, amazing marble staircases and the respectful hush to the air- that would have been very conducive to study had I been allowed to. Study plans in disarray, I retreated to Alexandrosvky Gardens, which hug one side of the massive Kremlin, to eat my feelings- more hommus and black rye, sitting near the tomb on the Unknown Soldier and allowing the afternoon sun to sooth my dejected self.
My text book, as most foreign language text books seem to do, (and logically so) subliminally presses the importance of immersing oneself as fully as possible in the country- with texts such as, “John goes to the movies all the time, and always listens to the radio- he already understands Russian quite well. Tom does not go to the movies or watch television, he still understands Russian very poorly” (maybe subliminal is not the right word). With the urging of my textbook and a spare Tuesday evening, I decided to take a leaf out of John’s book and head to the cinema. Successfully bought a ticket by replying ‘Da’ (yes) to every question the cashier asked, and settled in for the dubbed version of ‘Monte Carlo’, an American film on the not side of the enjoyable scale. And while I got the main story, I understood almost none of the dialogue- I didn’t realize how much my understanding was tied to being able to read or at least know the context of what was going on. At least there was a bag of blood plums and a pleasantly cool walk home through the misty park waiting at the end, even if it was accompanied by the knowledge that I have a long, long way to go.
At least my skills have extended to the absolutely crucial ability to decode my Russian horoscope- definitely the most mystical homework I have ever been given. Hot mushroom soup aided the translation effort, and while I struggled at the movie game at least I can be comforted by the fact that, ‘In spite of the fact that progress on the career ladder is not possible for you right now, you are to be envied on the love front- this week you will meet an interesting person, and develop a relationship with them as in the movies.’ Oh la la! As a side note about movies- in Russia, Harry Potter translates as Garry Potter. Must say, it loses some of its dramatic effect when you have a dubbed Voldemort rasping “Garrrrrrry Potter”. Hence the title of this entry!
Food here has been great so far- my hostess actually knew what vegan meant, and has been amazing at cooking things I can eat, when I’m not cooking up a storm for myself. Planning on picking up some recipes to bring home! However, it is obvious veganism doesn’t really exist in Russia- buying food on the street is pretty much impossible, and my teacher often makes not-so-veiled references to it being a ridiculous choice- the reason I was hungry just before lunch, was because I didn’t eat the ‘right things’, and tired after a run was because ‘I wasn’t getting enough energy’. Also, fresh fruit and veges aren't as available or as high quality as they are at home, and prices are always interesting- broccoli comes out at $7 a kilo, but bananas only $1.
John from the textbook also advocates Russian friends (“John has made many friends already, he was invited to a housewarming and had lots of fun practicing Russian.”) so where John leads, I shall follow. Thus, I have blind friendship dates lined up for the next 3 nights, and a bouldering/climbing adventure set for the weekend. So if I disappear, please call Ramon, Ana, Natasha or Sari and ask them where they’ve dumped my body. Until next time, (as long as I am not carried off into the sunset by my horoscope predicted lover or sold off by one of my new friends), до свидания-Из России с любовью.
