...Continued

Hello again!

After the excitement of Samara I didn't get around to mentioning some other bits and bobs from the last few weeks. I've now found myself with a spare few minutes (I'm currently sitting on the sofa in Nadia and Evgeny's flat - the couple who Dave and I stayed with when he visited - drinking coffee and eating biscuits. They've officially adopted me for my last week in Russia and so far it's working out just great) so I thought I'd write another cheeky blog.

The main thing I wanted to talk about was our visit to a local high school. Our wonderful teacher Tatiana Ivanovna pulled one of her many strings so that we could sit in on a few classes to get a feel for the education system. We were met at the tram station by two of the students, Katya and Dasha. They were both so polite, so professional and so darned happy to meet us. Katya in particular was bounding around like an excited puppy and immediately showered us with questions about us and about England and about our time in Russia, greeting every answer with impossibly wide eyes, a dramatic gasp and the Russian equivalent of "HOW COOL!" Once inside the school their enthusiasm didn't waver. They marched us straight to the first stop of the day - maths. The class was equivalent to a year 8 or year 9 lesson in an English secondary school but I'll be darned if such a disciplined and engaged year 8 or 9 class exists in England. There was no talking, no laughing, no silliness. Their hands shot rigidly into the air to answer each and every question and they were all desperate, not reluctant or embarrassed, to go up to the front to write their calculations on the board. My most prominent memory of pre-GCSE maths was locking a mobile phone in a locker at the back of the class and taking turns to ring it whilst claiming collective ignorance as to where the ringing was coming from, resulting in our teacher breaking down in tears. Not quite the same.

At the end of the class the teacher asked us some questions - Did you understand everything? (No) Are classes like this in England? (No) Do you enjoy maths? (Hahahaha!) Then she invited questions from us so we asked the kids if they speak any English, to which one young man replied "Yes! I speak English. I love Russia. I respect Russia." which just about sums it up. We then took a tour of the school and went to meet the student council. Again, I was so struck by their professionalism, their seriousness and how much pride they seemed to take in their education and their country. They asked us poignant, pointed questions about our culture and our impressions of Russia and were keen to share their opinions in return. Russian schools don't have a set uniform but there is a dress code - something along the lines of office wear. My sixth form had a similar dress code, which resulted in girls turning up in strappy tops, mini skirts, jeans or leggings. Clearly they envisaged a very liberal office. The Russian children, however, take the dress code seriously which results in them all looking very smart and clearly part of an institution but with each child able to express an element of their personality through their clothes. It was very cool. So this year I've seen both ends of the educational spectrum; Spain, where the kids run and scream and PDA in the corridors and swear at the teachers and chew gum and play on their phones and generally treat school as a social hub to hang out with their mates and Russia, where the kids are more like mini adults and stand to welcome the teacher into the room and take pride in their learning and wouldn't dare take a step out of line. I reckon England sits somewhere in the middle.

To me, the Russian education system is like a chicken and egg analogy - does their schooling instil in the children a seriousness and a boldness which develops into what we see as the Russian mentality, or is the mentality innate and that's what makes them take their schooling so seriously?

The other thing I'd wanted to give a proper mention to: my wonderful hosts. I said before that Russian hospitality is overwhelmingly generous. It turns out it also doesn't take no for an answer. After many insistences that I simply must pack up and live with them for my last week in Russia, I caved. Look at them looking all 1970's and awesome...

And Nadia and Evgeny are proving to be more and more wonderful by the day. Vodka for breakfast, green tea and biscuits before bed, trips to the forest to pick mushrooms, late nights learning to cook dumplings and translating Deep Purple lyrics. They take Russian hospitality to another level. I reckon this last week is gonna be a good'un.

X

Sunny Samara

This weekend I went on a little adventure to a nearby city called Samara (according to the interweb, the sixth largest city in the whole of Russia). It's on the bank of the Volga and is apparently making a bid to become an international tourist destination, which I think might be slightly ambitious if only for the fact that for most international tourists this would involve a 12 hour train ride from Moscow. It was a beautiful city (especially along the river bank) but perhaps not quite that beautiful. Travelling alone in Russia is a wee bit daunting but I was inspired to take the plunge by my solo adventure to Santiago in Spain and how great it turned out to be. And I'm pleased to report that going solo in Samara was an equally pleasant surprise!

I spent a lot of the weekend just wandering around and seeing where the streets would take me. It reminded me a lot of my first few weeks in Gijón - endless wandering and succumbing to the inevitability of getting lost and turning it into a little game to see how quickly I could find something familiar. This year has most certainly taught me to be a lot less of a cautious traveller in terms of navigation. I always used to be quite nervous of unfamiliar places, especially tackling the public transport, but this year I've had an epiphany that (usually) the worst that can happen is that you get a bit lost and have to backtrack and try again - you just have to be brave. So in Samara I was happily jumping on and off the various marshrutkas that came my way, no clue where they'd take me but pretty happy to go along for the ride!

On Saturday I found myself in a very large and very picturesque park. In Russia, the weekend is the time to get married so if you're out and about in a city, especially anywhere that's vaguely scenic, you're bound to come across a wedding party or two - the bride and groom leaning against a tree or sitting in a flowerbed and pouting at a camera while the rest of the group wander around, champagne bottles in hands and music booming from a nearby car radio. On a 20 minute stroll through this particular park in Samara I saw not one, not two, but twenty-seven wedding parties. Twenty seven. It started to feel like I was in a strange version of Groundhog Day. Another surreal experience took place in a little museum which had a sign outside naming it a museum of modern art. I'm quite partial to a modern art gallery, the odder the better - hours of entertainment and bewilderment. So I nipped inside. But on the first floor I found no trace of modern art. Instead, each room just had a informational plaque describing its interior design, the history of the building and its original function so I thought I must have mistranslated the sign outside. The lady who worked there came over (I was the sole visitor at the time), found out I was English and insisted on giving me the full tour. So we continued up to the second floor where, lo and behold, the modern art exhibition turned out to be. My self-appointed tour guide either hadn't noticed this minor detail or was choosing to ignore it (perhaps she's more of a traditionalist). So I found myself stood in a darkened room with a looping video being projected onto the wall of a naked man in a bathtub painting his body blue with a paintbrush, whilst the lovely little old lady persistently pointed out the light fittings (which I couldn't actually see) and the windows (which were boarded up) and told me about the Russian aristocracy. Strange.

Samara is also home to Stalin's Bunker, which was built as second headquarters for Stalin in 1942, in case Moscow were to fall to the Nazis. The bunker is 37 metres below ground and would have been able to withstand a direct hit from an aerial bomb. Stalin never actually had to use the bunker but it's still a pretty interesting piece of Soviet history and I was very keen to visit. When I found it on Saturday it was closed to the public and the sign said it would be closed on Sunday too (great logic there from the Russians) but on Sunday afternoon, on an absolute whim, I nipped back just in case and found a group from a cruise ship about to make their way inside for a tour. So I snuck in with them, on the premise that I was part of the cruise. And it was well worth it - eerie, interesting and something of a time capsule underground. Other Samara highlights include an accidental Catholic service attendance (by the time I realised what was going on, a nun had given me a hymn book and I felt far too awkward to leave), a pint of cold beer fresh from the local brewery tap, two spectacular sunsets and more ice cream than any one person should consume over the space of three days. Samara - success.

Other news this week (last week really - I've been a bit slack, sorry about that) concerns my living arrangements. The two girls who normally share this flat have come back to Ulyanovsk to start their academic year so all of a sudden I have not only flatmates but a room-mate! I'm not good at sharing... not good at all... so I freaked out a bit at first. I could not imagine sharing a bedroom with a total stranger with whom I can barely communicate. BUT (as with most things) it hasn't been even nearly as difficult as I expected. There's far less opportunity for me to do my daily One Woman Les Mis Medley and skyping is feels slightly awkward and impolite with someone else in the room. But otherwise day to day life has remained relatively unchanged! I feel very bad for the girls - to have to put up with a foreign intruder in their space - but they've been very good about it and have made a real effort to chat to me, so that's nice.

There is a lot more to write about but I've already blabbed on quite a bit so perhaps I'll make this one a two-parter. To be continued...!

X

P.S. HI JAMES

Vodka for breakfast

Oh my, what a busy two weeks.

The busyness began two Mondays ago with a trip to the local zip-wire park, Adrenalin. A bit like Go Ape, for those of you who've been, but with approximately 99% less health and safety regulations. There is something very liberating about going to a place like that without sitting through a compulsory 2 hour safety demonstration and having staff in hard hats waiting around every corner to check your ropes, remind you of the rules and stop you from doing anything too wild like fun police. Then again, as previously mentioned, I had a date in Moscow to get to so I was pretty keen to escape with my life and all limbs intact. With this in mind, I didn't go mad with my new found freedom, settling for semi sensible fun.

The very next day (muscles aching from head to toe from all the ladder climbing and zip lining) I packed up a little bag and headed to the train station. I was very excited at the prospect of meeting Dave in Moscow but with a 15 hour train journey and a half-day alone to get through before his arrival, I had to try to remain calm - 23 straight hours of intense excitement is just not sustainable. The train journey went pretty smoothly, as did finding the hostel once I'd arrived in Moscow. I then went to meet Yoanne for lunch who, by amazing coincidence, just happened to be in town that same weekend as part of her journey from Saint Petersburg on the Trans-Siberian Railway. We had a very lovely (albeit brief) catch up and before I knew it I was headed to the metro to get to the airport express train to meet Dave in arrivals. It suddenly struck me that (bar a slight detour to the hostel and to lunch) I was carrying out the exact reverse of the journey I'd made seven weeks previously when I first arrived in Russian, only this time I was happy and excited and carrying a tiny handbag instead of terrified and tired and lugging two suitcases. A very happy contrast indeed.

Moscow is a hard city to sum up - it doesn't feel all that friendly and I don't reckon it's very accessible for tourists (most of the signs on the metro are only in Russian, which is pretty mad for the capital city of the biggest country in the world) but it's certainly got its charm. On Thursday (Dave's birthday) we met up with Andrew - a Muscovite student of Tatiana's who she'd convinced to meet us for the day and show us round a bit (I swear she could sell ice to the Eskimos if she needed to). He was the perfect tour guide. Relaxed, friendly and full of little anecdotes and interesting bits of information about the major landmarks and the city's political history. In the evening Dave and I headed out for his birthday treat. We'd found a restaurant online called Cafe Pushkin, which sounded pricey but too cool to resist. We decided there's no better reason to splash out than a birthday and what a fantastic decision that turned out to be - Cafe Pushkin was definitely the highlight of our Moscow Adventure. The food was pretty sensational and the service was amazing - a very rare phenomenon in Russia indeed. We probably stood out like sore thumbs in our desperate attempts to take sneaky photos of the décor and grinning at each other like little children every time the waiter came to refill our wine glasses with a flourish.

On Friday we went to the Kremlin - the supposed highlight for any tourist in Moscow. It was certainly very impressive - beautiful in places - and holds a heck of lot of fascinating Russian history but I have to say (I hope Putin isn't reading this) that I wouldn't be inclined to recommend it all that highly as a Must See. Apparently the Armoury and the Diamond Vault are breathtaking so perhaps we would have been more impressed had we managed to see those too but we were pushed for time (and cash!) and settled on the basic entry tickets instead. On Saturday our plans were slightly scuppered by a pretty intense downfall of rain so instead of going to Gorky Park as planned we ended up at the State Tretyakov Gallery, which houses a bigger art collection that I ever thought possible to exist under one roof. Naturally (because it's becoming increasingly clear that we have no restraint whatsoever when it comes to food and drink) a lot of our time in Moscow was spent drinking beers and vodkas and cocktails and eating delicious meats and dumplings and ice cream. And suddenly it was time to head back to Ulyanovsk. The train journey was infinitely more enjoyable with a companion. We made the most of it by drinking some train beers, eating lots of train chocolate and playing train cards.

Tatiana had secured us a flat to stay in for three nights in Ulyanovsk because overnight guests are technically not allowed in the dorm. We knew that it was an empty flat and that there'd be an air-bed but otherwise we didn't know what to expect. Little did we know that the landlady and landlord were a fantastically friendly Russian couple in their 50s living on the same corridor who'd want to spend as much time with us as possible and feed us until we were fit to burst. We had vodka and pancakes and cheese and sour cream (of course) and sausage and bread and honey and fresh tomatoes and cucumber and apples and pears and grapes (all home grown). And that was just breakfast. The landlord took a very large shine to Dave, commenting more than once on how handsome he is and how well he sings and plays the guitar (after coercing him into giving a private concert in the lounge) and wanted to tell him all sorts of jokes and anecdotes. The only problem was that my translating skills were not quite up to scratch so I'd translate Yevgeny's jokes as best I could... "Something about a farmer... a Chinese farmer... working in a field..." etc etc, but once it got to the punchline I'd pull a blank and have to resort to telling Dave to just laugh and nod as if I'd understood. We got away with it but I can't help feeling a pang of guilt when I think of all those wasted punchlines. One time I lent across the table and ended up inadvertently dipping my finger in the sour cream. Without hesitation, Yevgeny grabbed my hand and licked it clean off whilst Dave looked on, powerless and bemused. And another time, when Nadia (the landlady) was out I happened to leave the room for 30 seconds, in which time Yevgeny poured a secret vodka shot for himself and Dave to hurriedly down while the women weren't watching.

It was a slightly overwhelming but highly enjoyable experience and my first real encounter of the renowned Russian hospitality that I'd read so much about but had yet to really come across first hand. It was a shame to say goodbye to them but I very much hope to see them again before I leave for good.

And then Wednesday evening arrived and it was time to head back to station to wave goodbye once more. They don't get any easier - these goodbyes - but there was a definite silver lining this time in that it was the official last goodbye of the Year Abroad. Crazy.

X

Code red: the jig is up

It's been a quiet week this week, mainly due to... wait... scrap that... WHOLLY due to the fact that I suddenly realised I had about five days in which to write a 1000 word essay. Normally I am the Queen of last minute essays. My laptop and I spent many a frantic night-before-deadline together last year in order to submit a passable 2000-3000 words the next morning so the prospect of 1000 words in five days should be nothing short of a luxury. But this was no normal essay. This essay required 1000 Russian words. Russian words put together in such a way as to coherently and intelligently describe an aspect of Russian culture. If physical torture had been offered as an alternative, I would've taken my chances on the rack.

Thus, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday AND Wednesday were reduced to an essay filled blur. I consumed much tea and spent much time on the internet getting distracted by just about anything other than relevant, essay based research, as is compulsory for students everywhere. I also managed to spend the best part of two hours cutting out little pieces of paper with the letters of the Cyrillic alphabet written on and sticking them to the corresponding key on my laptop with blue tac. Of course, once accomplished the typing became much easier so let's call it an investment rather than a last-ditch, desperate attempt at procrastination. Ahem. Then on Thursday morning I woke up, gave it one last look over (which proved absolutely futile considering I'd already forgotten what about 99% of the words meant, having relied almost entirely on my Russian dictionary to provide the content) and sent it off to Durham. And I was free once more.

On Thursday afternoon we went to a little photography museum in the town centre as part of an excursion organised by the international office. The university runs a two week summer school for foreign students so there are quite a few students from China and Germany here at the moment. The trips are technically arranged for them but we've managed to muscle in on the itinerary. I wasn't sure what to expect of the photography museum but it turned out to be a jolly delightful afternoon. First of all we were shown an exhibition detailing how they took photos in the old days (before instagram - can you even imagine). Then we were ushered into a room and shown how to make a photographic image with just a flash-light and photography paper. For this to work successfully, we were plunged into darkness and all of sudden, standing in the pitch black with a twenty strong group of international students, I was hit by a bolt of panic and terror - this is it. This is the end. This whole 'photography museum' exercise has just been an elaborate set up by the Russian government to get us into a darkened room and do away with us. Then they fired up a red lamp and I came to my senses and stopped being dramatic and made a pretty picture with the photographic paper. After that we were offered the chance to don some old-timey garb and pose for photos. As a chronic fancy dress aficionado, I was the first volunteer and I think it's safe to say I've found my new look:

On Saturday we rose bright and early and headed out with the same group to a big air show in the part of the city that lies on the other side of the Volga. I think that it was some sort of anniversary or commemoration of some sort of aviation thing or something but never quite figured out who, what or why. Suffice to say, there was a lot of plane based activities going on. Our first stop was the plane factory, which is one of the main landmarks of the city and at one point would've been the mainstay of its economy. We piled out of the mini bus - an international melting pot of German, British, Chinese and Russian students - and went to queue for tickets. Anna, one of the ladies from the international office who was with us, was speaking to the ladies at the desk for quite a while before coming over and telling us that they weren't going to let us in because they were worried we might gather sensitive information and report back to our respective nations. We all laughed but Anna remained straight-faced and assured us that it was no joke. They had genuinely turned us away. They thought we were spies. Spies. In Ulyanovsk. At this point we laughed even harder and commando-rolled our way towards the exit. I still don't know what's more worrying - the fact that they think their plane factory holds information worthy of reconnaissance, or the fact that they assume that spies come in the form of a giggling gaggle of teens and twenty-somethings. Aside from this hilarious mishap the day went smoothly and very enjoyably, culminating in a show from Russia's answer to the Red Arrows. 

And so ends another week in Ulyanovsk! The year abroad time-space continuum is continuing to work in strange and mysterious ways, with each week passing even quicker than the last. I'm sort of hoping it'll let up and slow down a bit next week though because, I don't mind telling you, I have a hot date in Moscow. Watch this space. 

BYE!

X 

A Russian mini-break

Over a month in Russia and I'm still yet to become a hardened vodka swiller. What's that about?!

The big news this week is that I've ventured outside of Ulyanovsk for the first time since arriving. Last weekend Andrew, Richard, Tina and I took a trip to the very nearby city of Kazan. We're slowly learning that the concept of 'very nearby' by Russian standards is an entirely different kettle of fish. Considering that they consider a 3 day train journey to be no big deal, the 4-hour marshrutka ride that we took was a veritable walk in the park. The previous afternoon we'd had a little baking session to make some delicious piroshki (otherwise known as greasy meat treats or heart attack pies) for the journey. Then it was just a case of getting up bright and early on Friday morning to head to the bus station. Upon arrival we found our hostel pretty easily and wasted absolutely no time in heading straight out to our first stop: not the magnificent Kremlin, not one of the many museums nor any of the history-steeped streets of the city. No no. Our first stop was Aqua Park. And I have no regrets. Aside from being reminded just how much fun it is to throw yourself down a vertical pipe made of plastic and full of water, I can also report that the Russians do not know how to queue. Not one bit. And I'm sure I don't need need to tell you quite how much that got our goat. We are British. And we queue. And that's that.

On Saturday we re-repressed our inner children and headed out in search of cultural enlightenment. Everyone back in Ulyanovsk had told us that the Kazan Kremlin is stunning but we still weren't fully prepared for the sight that met us as we walked up the steps out of the metro station. I thought maybe we'd accidentally missed our stop, taken a wrong turning and ended up in Disneyland.

The word Kremlin seems to have become synonymous with the one in Moscow but it does actually apply to any citadel or fortress. The Kazan Kremlin is home to a 16th-century cathedral, the palace of the President of Tatarstan and the Kul Sharif mosque. While it can't quite match up to that of the capital in terms of size (what with Moscow's five palaces and four cathedrals) I would have to say that the Kul Sharif mosque (pictured above) is probably the most beautiful building I've ever seen in real life. I nearly burned out the memory card on my camera in a desperate attempt to get a picture that came even close to doing it justice. We had a pretty perfect day wandering around, taking in the sights and basking in the sun. Then in the evening we headed out for a night on the tiles which came to a mojito-fuelled climax in an amazing bar called Cuba Libre. When worlds collide. Our Sunday activity was to head to the central stadium to watch a very conveniently timed match between Rubin Kazan and CSKA Moscow. I'd love to say that I awoke bright eyed, bushy tailed and full of football-ready energy. Suffice to say, my sunglasses were my best friend for most of the day and it was all I could do to not add to the tense atmosphere in the stands by vomiting on the head of the man in front of me. Crippling hangovers aside, it was a very interesting experience. The game itself never really got started but the spectators, the Moscow fans in particular, provided more than enough entertainment by letting off fireworks in the stands, releasing blue clouds of smoke and being generally terrifying. After the match it was time to head home and we were all very sad to have to say goodbye. Kazan gets a 10/10.

And yesterday we had to say another sad goodbye, this time to Andrew who is leaving us in search of Spanish-ier climes. He will be missed her in Ulyanovsk. To mark his departure we headed out for dinner and drinks on Thursday.When we arrived back to the hostel we decided to watch Game of Thrones in Andrew's room (on the 6th floor) so I ran upstairs to my room (on the 8th floor) to grab a drink and then nipped down to Tina's flat (on the 7th floor) before heading back to Andrew's. I rang the bell and stood waiting to be let in, clutching my carton of wine and a glass. The door opened and I was greeted by the nice young man from Palestine who lives in the flat next to mine. He seemed confused, looked at his watch and asked if I was hoping to come in for tea. I stuttered for a long time as my brain tried to process what was happening before the realisation dawned that I'd been in such a rush to get back to Game of Thrones that I'd absent-mindedly gone back up the stairs from Tina's flat, ending up back on my own floor. Of course, I couldn't begin to explain that in Russian. I muttered a hurried apology, waving my wine in his face by way of explanation and legged it. So I may be losing a friend in Andrew but I'm pretty confident that I laid some excellent groundwork for a stunning new friendship that night.

It's strange to be a Brit in Russia this week. If you haven't already seen Putin's homophobic Russia being expertly put under the spotlight by the wonderful Mr Stephen Fry, read this. I feel like a soldier who's accidentally wandered into enemy terrain but then sits down to have a cup of tea instead of giving them what for. We've signed contracts saying we won't engage in Russia's political life in any way and it's a well known fact that tourists in Russia can be arrested for promoting 'homosexual propaganda'. So can all my lawyer friends please remain on standby, just in case.

X

Trying to learn the ropes

Greetings all. I'm still alive! And still in Russia. And still all the more confused and bemused and surprised by this crazy crazy country by the second.

Lessons-wise I'm experiencing infrequent peaks and persistent troughs, as ever. But I can now recite Goldilocks and the Three Bears in Russian so if you're ever in a jam and a Russian Mafia boss is demanding you recite a traditional fairytale, you know who to call. Tatiana is continuing to show herself to be a pretty great teacher. She told me I need to try to read a book in Russian to expand my vocabulary base, so on Friday I impulse bought a copy of The Hobbit (or Хоббит in Russian). Does anyone fancy bribing the lecturers at Durham so that 'porridge', 'Orcs' and 'misty mountains' magically come up on an exam next year? I'd be much obliged.

On Friday evening Andrew, Richard, Dasha and I had a little party in Andrew's flat. I might have already mentioned this, but the uni dorms have an 11pm curfew (just take a minute to imagine the eruption of laughter that would occur if it were to be suggested that British university students should adhere to an 11pm curfew... pahahahaha). Last weekend we arrived back at 11:10pm after a few drinks at bar (and a quick pit-stop to play on some monkey bars) thinking that an extra 10 minutes surely couldn't do any harm. We had to ring a bell and a very large and very menacing lady opened the door to let us in with a steely glare. She was not happy. So we've since decided it's best to play by the rules and thought if we can't go to the party we'll have to bring the party to us. We bought had some beverages and put on some tunes and put the world to rights. We even spoke a bit of Russian. Just a bit though.

And yesterday the lovely Tina, who's in my class in Durham and who also goes to Emmanuel, arrived in Ulyanovsk. Sadly, Andrew and I were not on best form to welcome her with energy and enthusiasm having consumed a little bit too much wine the night before but we managed to pull ourselves together in time to go and meet Ivan, Dasha and another pilot called Aleksei in the centre of town. We assembled by the Lenin Memorial and went in search of somewhere to get some food. Once seated I noticed an old lady wearing a shawl walking around trying to sell roses. Suddenly she tapped me on the shoulder, thrusted a red rose in my face and gestured towards a man sitting behind me who'd sent it over. And the next thing I know she has forcibly pulled me up out of chair (for a seemingly frail little thing she had some scary strength) and is pushing me towards him, telling me that I should repay the favour by kissing him on the cheek. I was torn between terror, mortification and hysterical laughter. No one stepped in at this point to rescue so I was left stood in front of him with Russian eyes burning into the back of my head from every angle. I awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and thanked him before returning to my seat to stare at the table until my burning cheeks returned to a normal human colour. Classic Russia.

Afterwards we went for a walk, which seems to be a popular way to pass time for young people in Russia - just wandering about with no particular destination in mind. Unfortunately (and I'm sure they won't mind me saying, for the sake of cultural observation) the conversation between Ivan, Aleksei and I became quite heated as they began to discuss their views first on the roles of women and then on sexual orientation. I'm not naive about how Russia treats these issues and I fully expected that a lot of my opinions and views would be out of place here but I was still absolutely floored by some of the things that were said, especially coming from people of my own age. Perhaps it was disrespectful of me to speak up when I'm not on home soil . And I understand that their opinions are very much a product of the society they've grown up in. But anyone who knows me would know that for me to have bitten my tongue upon hearing what I consider to be a flippant and baseless denouncement of an entire demographic of people... well... it would have been harder than impossible. Anyway, we reached an amicable conclusion, agreeing to disagree. And the moral of the story for me is that there are certain topics of conversation that I will be avoiding at all costs during my time here.

In other news, I've been using my free time to go running like I used to in Spain. Running around the campus is not quite as inspiring as running along the beach in Gijón but fresh air is fresh air. Also in the last fortnight Andrew has introduced me to the world of Game of Thrones. Yes, I am arriving super late to the Game of Thrones party. But I gotta say it - it kicks butt. So compelling and so relentless and holy moly Sean Bean. Obviously this contributes in no way shape or form to our Russian learning experience but for Sean Bean I would sacrifice anything. And on that note I'll be off.

BYE!

X

English blondey lady

Week two in Ulyanovsk. I'm no longer quite so much of a loner thanks to the arrival of two other Durham students, Richard and Andrew. We'd never met before because they're in the year below and are just setting off on their year abroad adventure so naturally, as a veteran, I will prove invaluable in my ability to bestow upon them all of the wisdom and knowledge I have gained from my year so far. Please, try to suppress your laughter.

Lessons have begun and so far it's off a rocky start. We have two teachers - Tatiana and Ulsa - and my first impression is that they are both pretty darned fantastic. The first lesson was on Monday and it was actually... dare I say it... enjoyable. Tatiana complimented me a whole lot on my accent, saying that the English twang is practically undetectable. The years of imitating bond villains have clearly paid off. And there wasn't an awful lot that flew over my head, which is almost unprecedented in my Russian learning experience. The second and third lessons were somewhat trickier. In Durham, our lessons often consisted of a group of about 12 of us sitting in sort of semi-circle and we'd be asked questions from a worksheet or grammar book one by one. I developed a tactic to always sit in the middle so that I'd never be asked first. I'd count down the line to see which number I was, then count down to the corresponding question and frantically (but subtly) whip through my dictionary and my verb tables so that, by the time it was my turn, I could produce a seemingly spontaneously correct answer to my question. This is one of the reasons why the teachers at Durham didn't cotton on to the true extent of my ineptitude until it was probably too late. Unfortunately, this tactic doesn't fly when applied to a class of three students. There's no time to look anything up. There's nowhere to hide.

On Thursday the ladies in the university office organised a trip to a plane museum so we jumped in a mini bus together with the students from Belarus. We arrived at the museum which looked more like the sprawling back yard of an expert plane thief. I didn't understand a word the guide was saying (partly because I was so distracted by the massive hammer and sickle on his belt buckle) so I made do by making interested 'mmmhmmm' sounds at regular intervals. But the sun was shining and we were surrounded by freakin' massive planes and helicopters so it was still a very enjoyable afternoon. Due to a terrifying lack of health and safety regulations we were more than welcome to climb up onto the wing of a Concorde-esque jet and run around like small children with our arms out like wings. Naturally, we obliged.

Upon leaving we were stopped by the owner who was very keen to know what we thought of the museum and to test out his English on us. He told me that he was very pleased to meet a 'real English blondey lady' and that he saw his dreams reflection in my eyes. So that's nice. He then gave me his email address and told me I should email him when it's raining and I'm bored because he has an extensive LP collection which he'd like to show me. Who says the Russians aren't friendly?!

On Friday Andrew and I ventured to the beach, which I'd been reluctant to do on my own because it involves catching a Marshrutka. They're basically like a massive white van that's been gutted and then had some chairs bolted to the floor. You jump on and find a space to lodge yourself into (seats are not always for available) and then hand your fare to a complete stranger so it can get passed down to the driver who takes it and counts out your change as he drives. They drive at break-neck speed and you have to shout at the driver to get them to stop when you want to get off. Sounds safe, doesn't it? But we braved it and we made it there and back almost totally unscathed. Score 1 to us. And yesterday we did another brave thing - we went to the cinema. I had all my fingers and toes crossed that it would be subtitled but because it was an animation (Monsters University no less) it was dubbed. My heart sank and I donned my 3D glasses, expecting a boring and confusing couple of hours but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I understood (this can probably be put down to the fact that the film is partly aimed at little children, whose native language ability has only developed about as far as my Russia. But I'm still counting it as a victory). 

It's been a far more active, far less lonely week. I met a couple more very friendly pilots who took me to try some traditional Russian borcsh (beetroot soup) and kvass (a drink made from fermented bread) both of which were (surprisingly) ridiculously tasty. And Richard introduced Andrew and I to his very lovely Russian friend who he knows having already spent time in Ulyanovsk in the spring. Yay, friends!

I'm still very unsure about how this Russian malarkey fits in to the bigger picture and what I should do in the long run but the plan is to take every day as it comes and hopefully an answer will present itself naturally in due course. 

До встречи!

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