What I'll Miss (or Not)

Having stayed over three months in the one city, discounting the lightning visit to Moscow, I’ve grown accustomed to certain activities, people, and a way of life that is different to my old one in NZ. When I leave, I’ll miss some of this, and some I’ll be happy to be rid of.
Naturally, I’ll miss the friends I’ve made here. There’s Team America and the Germans, most of whom (both groups) are returning to their respective countries soon. There are my classmates, of whom I’m the only one going home. They’re wondering why; I’ve tried explaining that the money and time are running out and I have to go. I was only going to be here for one semester (or 15 weeks, whichever came first). As the 15 weeks expired on 12 December, I’d better be going. My teachers are sort of friends – Dmitri and Tatyana are both nice, happy people, and it’s a pity I couldn’t spend a bit of time with them outside of school. But I suppose they have to set boundaries, or they’ll get nothing done. Galina and Vladimir (who calls me “Student”) I’ll certainly miss. Both wonderful people, as are my neighbours: I’ve spent many hours, most broken into 10-15 minute segments, chatting to them. Being polite and a good neighbour helps in Russia – they value good manners.
Then there’s that cooked breakfast that arrives in the morning. I’ve certainly got used to that routine and it’ll come as a rude shock to discover I’ve got to cook my own breakfast again. And going to KGU for three hours every day is routine that I’ll miss. On the other hand, I won’t miss climbing those stairs, or cramming into the lifts. And I won’t miss the toilets, which doubled as smoking rooms. Some days the smoke was so dense it was difficult to see the walls.
I will miss all the nodding acquaintances, as they a regular faces. The guy in Книжный Дом (Book House), the laundry, the security guards at KGU; they’re all people I nodded or said hello to. They nodded and said hello back. I think I’ll miss the Mickey Dee’s on Baumana, but I’m not sure. I won’t be missing going there, and logging on for 30 minute sessions, and having variable access speed because it’s packed or somebody is downloading huge files or playing internet games. And this laptop, for all its virtues, weighs a ton! Between toting it back and forth, a couple of brief attacks (two days each) of the trots/food poisoning and the stairs at KGU, I’ve lost about 5kg since I got here. But this is yet to be confirmed by my regular scales. I know the scales at the laundrette said I was lighter by about 3-4kg, so for the first time I a long while I weigh less than 90kg. Yea me!
I won’t miss the footpaths of Kazan. They would have to be the worst I met anywhere. They exist, but half the time they are seriously pot-holed, puddle after rain and then covered in slick mud. You have to be a mountaineer to navigate some of them. Somebody could make a sizeable fortune offering ankle insurance too – you can easily twist an ankle in the crap surfaces.
I also won’t miss the semi-permanent state of confusion that descends on me the moment I start talking with Russians. It’s not that they’re confusing; it’s just having to cope with a language I’ve only partly mastered. And I will not sorry to the last of Russian toilets as a collective group (apart from the one in Galina’s apartment). Apart from the haphazard cleaning regime, there tends to be a lack of toilet paper in the stalls. This has to be allowed for before you suddenly find that the smallest usable piece of paper in your wallet is NOT a 10RR note but something much more valuable.
I’m not sure if I’ll miss winter – it never really arrived. Only today has the temperature been below 0°C by more than one or two degrees. I was talking to my Muscovite friend and realised that my bare hand had frozen. I also had very cold ears. I considered buying an ushanka (those lovely sheepskin hats Russian men wear in winter with the Captain Dog-ears flaps, but I don’t think it would be practical in Aukalofa – it’s too warm) for a few minutes.
But I miss my NZ friends and family and it’s time to get back and pay off this horrendous credit card bill. I’m dreading seeing that.
Next post: hopefully some pictures, or a commentary on the flight back.

Packing Up

I’m down to the final week in Kazan and now face the somewhat difficult task of packing everything I’ve bought, as well as everything I’ve brought with me, into the suitcase. I have this horrible feeling it is going to be a tight fit. I could well have to post back the three models I’ve bought. Certainly I’d be a lot less worried about crushing them. But I suspect I won’t.
I have this feeling that I’m going to have to leave one or two things behind. The first casualty will be a couple of pairs of old socks. I came here with both summer and winter weight socks. The laundrette managed to lose one sock. (I attach no blame to the, socks are a migratory species of clothing and occasionally get lost when separated from the flock. Either that, or there is an, as yet, undiscovered species that preys on socks.) One of my old pairs of winter weight socks suffered terminal drying, and shrivelled at the point where it was worn threadbare. I think these two pairs are for the rubbish bin.
What next? I will have to tightly roll and carefully fold all the clothing. I’m sure to gain an extra 500ml of space. Of course, on the return leg I’ll be wearing slightly more clothes (and wishing wasn’t) than on the way here. That’s one sweatshirt, a heavy pair of socks, and heavy trousers. Oh yes, a long-sleeved shirt and the “winter” boots. I wore a pair of very comfortable walking shoes on the way over, but they were cheap. The laces snapped (both are now knotted together) and a D-ring one lace threads through has broken. Quite annoying, as they really are comfortable. Lesson: don’t expect to get full wear out of shoes bought at Nº1 Shoe Warehouse.
Right, I’ve now freed up enough space to stuff in the soft and compressible gifts I bought. If I put the books and the laptop in its bag and carry it separately, I might have enough room for the things I can’t get in the suitcase, into my rucksack. This may entail a spot of repacking at Moscow-Sheremetyevo airport. These days, the airlines are loath to allow you to take bottles of booze on as hand luggage. Aeroflot in particular, because Russia is involved in its on “war on terror”, is very strict on these rules. I’ve had my shoes scanned for explosives only in Moscow. There are metal detectors at all the stadia and big theatres. They really are concerned about this. (TatNeft Arena, home of Ak Bars hockey team, has an interesting set of “not allowed” on the wall – first time I’ve seen knives and handguns listed. But then, I’ve not been to a game in the redneck belt.)
Because I’m going to spending a few hours, like 12, in Moscow before the plane flies out, I’ll be doing a bit of sight-seeing. I don’t expect to see any snow there, Moscow’s had the warmest early December on record and only now, in mid-December are the temperatures staying below 0°C during the day. We’ve had the same problem in Kazan; it’s probably going to be a brown Christmas. Provided I don’t go silly with the money, and there’s no large state functions, I’ll probably do a quick tour of the Moscow Kremlin. Apparently there are a few churches worth seeing. I know how to find it. The bags, or two of them, will be stuck in left luggage at Cavyolovskaya railway station (Савёловская Вокзал). I’ll use that one as it’s the terminal for the express out to Sheremetyevo airport.
There will be a furious bout of repacking at the airport, I suppose, as I try and arrange things the way I want them and still comply with all the airline rules and regulations. Damn this flying cattle class! I just know I’ll have to pay excess baggage.
Next Post: What I’ll Miss (or Not).

What I Would Have Done Differently

When you go on a long trip, and that essentially is what this has been, you can look back with 20:20 hindsight and declare that some things could have been done better, or at least differently. I’m in that position, nearing the end of my stay in Kazan and Russia and have decided to catalogue the list of mistakes I wish to correct, or replay so that I can get a better outcome.
The first, and most obvious, is that I would have done this sooner! And that includes moving to Aukalofa, starting and finishing the B.A. at least two years earlier, etc. For a start, I would have had more money and had a happier girlfriend. I would also have been two years younger, which may have helped with acquiring a new language. Who am I kidding; Russian is acknowledged as being one of the harder Indo-European languages to learn. Compared to Russian, French, Italian or Spanish are a doddle.
Secondly, I would have brought cash instead of traveller’s cheques. The commission charged on changing traveller’s cheques into local currency is high – it can reach 10%, even when you find a bank that is happy to cash them. Cash may be easier to steal, but it attracts a much lower exchange commission.
Thirdly, there was a travel scholarship I didn’t know existed until AFTER applications for it closed. Even $1000 would have been useful, assuming I’d got it. If ever you are in the position of being a student planning foreign study, look at ALL the possible sources of money that exist, especially the travel ones. The useful information is often hidden in obscure corners of the university campus, far from enquiring wallets and minds.
Fourthly, I would have checked that power supply for the laptop before I packed it. Murphy’s Law can strike at the worst possible moment, and the old adage of “measure twice, cut once” can be applied to more than just carpentry. Similarly, and fifth, wandering around Shanghai with the cables for the digital camera was asking to lose them, considering I was operating on adrenaline as opposed to sleep. I think I should have been ruder to the Chinese, too.
Sixthly, I should really have read up on the weather here before packing. The rain isn’t hard; it would qualify as “showers” or “light rain” in New Zealand. The heavy overcoat would have stayed at home. This would have lightened the suitcase by about 2-3 kilos, plus given me a bit more room. I also would have brought more long sleeved shirts, instead of just the five I did. I have to wear summer shirts part of the time. This hasn’t been a problem only because the winter has been surprisingly mild. This is the second warmest December on record, and they’re on track to have a brown Christmas.
Seventhly, I would have done a lot more language practice before I left. Spending several days waiting for my ears to adjust to Russian was not fun or productive. I thought I had a handle on the language before I arrived, but I was more than a little bit wrong. Large amounts of listening practice should have been done before I left.
I’m certain I chose the right city to learn. Moscow and Saint Petersburg, lovely though they may be, are BIG. Moscow is also the most expensive city in the world. Here I knew nobody, so was basically thrown in the deep end. This was both good and bad, for the usual reasons of not knowing anybody. It is cheaper than Moscow, but it meant that I had to find, or be found by, people with whom to practise my Russian. I know somebody in Moscow, a native, who would’ve been happy to help, but he also wants to practise his English, and that would probably mean my Russian wouldn’t have been spoken at all. Plus, in a smaller city, people are friendlier, and I get to see another face of Russia.
I think I should have spent fewer days in Warsaw and even less time in Kaliningrad. They’re both nice cities (actually, K’grad is a bit of a hole but it could be nice, if they finish the improvements) but I would like have seen more of Poland and maybe even some Lithuania. I definitely want to see more of Russia. I’ve taken the night train here, so I haven’t seen that much out the window – kind of obvious, that – it was night and the countryside was dark, nothing to see. I would like to have caught Mashina Vremeni in concert; apparently they played in Kazan for free one day before I arrived.
Naturally, if I’d had more money (and more confidence in my command of Russian) I would have taken a cruise on the Volga, but where too? Astrakhan is about 3½ days down river, and Moscow the same up river, if The Lonely Planet is to be believed. Prices quoted in my (Galina’s) copy suggest that it is a cheap form of travel. Still, a quiet cruise on a quiet river would have been nice, even if I’d been sharing with Russians.
My only problem with the Russians is the language barrier. I can now hold a fairly reasonable conversation and understand most of what is said, provided there’s not too much background noise, but early on I was crap. Russians are like people everywhere, and generous hosts desperate to create a good impression. No wonder Russian officialdom has always been suspicious of foreigners: the locals would be too busy leering it up with the visitors to get any work done.
So my advice to everyone is “Go to Russia – you’ll have a really good time”. Next Post: Packing up.

Daily Routines

It doesn’t matter where I am; my life tends to follow a series of routines. And being in Kazan is no different. I tend to follow the same routine during the week, and have a slightly different one for the weekend. I suppose I’m like everybody else in this regard. Routines allow us to organise our day and leave room for the mess to creep in.
A typical day starts with a shower and freshening of the fangs. I like to face the world feeling clean. Then comes breakfast, which is whatever Galina has decided I deserve – she has yet to serve fillet aspirin, for which I am grateful - with the usual cups of coffee and toast. I call it toast, but it may be fried bread, or micro-waved or something. If I rise early enough, I eat with Galina and we watch morning TV, but if I’m lazy and get up late, I watch TV by myself. Then it’s back to my room to watch an hour or so of morning TV, to kick the brain into thinking, or at least accepting, Russian, make the bed and gather up the stuff for KGU.
Then there’s the morning walk to KGU, which goes through the shortcut, down the street, under the road, up the hill and we’re there. The shortcut can be exciting, because after a rainfall, it becomes a bit of a swamp. Theoretically there is asphalt under the dirt, but the dirt has done a great job of disguise and I can only find the asphalt at either end. The walk down the hill (hill? It would qualify as a small ridge in Aukalofa, and a slight rise in Wellywood) takes me past a pothole that is growing daily. I’m sure that a small family could live in it, flooding notwithstanding, as it extends from the edge of the curb out under the road.
I use the subway to cross the only busy street between me and KGU as I don’t want to become road pizza. Russian road rules scare me; it seems the only one they have is “give way to the right”. This applies even if you are not turning. It leads to a fair amount of confusion and some impressive traffic jams. I head to KGU for 10 o’clock classes and the road isn’t busy then, but still, better safe than in a Russian hospital. The subway has a selection of kiosks that sell flowers, or t-shirts, or CDs/DVDs, that sort of carry on. If I’ve got some time up my sleeve, I’ll do a bit of browsing, mostly by looking in the window. The door on the kiosk is for the providor, not the customer, thank you. If you can’t see it, they ain’t got it.
Then it’s arrive at KGU, disrobe and climb the stairs. I’d use the lifts, but I’ve mentioned the lift/student ration before. The exercise keeps me fit, and the walk is faster than the wait and ride. And then two 1½ hour lessons separated by a ten minute break. This is Russia, we have a 20 minute break, and the lessons are about 80 minutes long. The Russians actually have a word for one and a half, which is useful. During the break, we stretch our legs, eat morning tea if we’ve brought it, and generally relax. The teachers get to unwind too.
After classes, we usually go our separate ways, but sometimes it’s the great lunch hunt, with our mouths all trying to decide what flavours they want today. We’ve all tried a fair range of places, and the best deals seem to be either the “business lunch” (100RR) at a cafe /bar on Baumana, or the daily sandwich at Subway (79RR). Either is pretty cheap, filling, and tasty. Then it’s off home to do the homework, watch more TV, read, do Sudoku’s, and catch the weather forecast. Of course, I also cook and eat dinner, which is kind of important, or I’d be spending heaps on food.
Some days, I take the laptop with me in order to check e-mails or post this blog, or carry a load of laundry to the laundrette. Galina started off doing my laundry, but her washing machine has a minor malfunction now; the door-catch is worn and the door leaks badly with a full load. So every five days I go to the laundrette, where they wash my clothes, dry and fold them and only charge me 91RR for 3kg, which is more than five days dirty clothes. Collecting the clothes, I way myself on their scales, and I’ve lost about 4-5kg since this trip began. All that walking, plus two attacks of the midnight two-step, will do that. McDonalds has acquired the nickname “the Embassy”, as it’s where most of us foreign students go to check our email. It’s one of the few places around town with free Wi-Fi internet. Okay, you’re limited to a 30 minute session and a few MB of download, but, hey, it’s free.
Going home, and because the homework usually only takes an hour to do, I’ll do some window shopping in the mall directly on my path. I’ve caught a few shorts for up and coming films - Ice Age 3, Dawn of the Dinosaurs, for example, looks a hoot. I wonder if I’ll see it on the plane ride home? I also go into the local book shops, browse there in the military section, or stroll past the souvenir vendors on Baumana, looking for suitable gifts for nearest and dearest back home. There’s an awful lot of ticky-tacky in the souvenirs, just like souvenirs everywhere.
That’s about my day, with the real trivia and “too much information” filtered out. Next post: What I would have done differently.

Got A Hobby?

I know we all have one interest in common – Science Fiction and/or Fantasy; but do you have a hobby? I’ve discovered, much to wallet’s disgust, that I have several. Apart from the usual guy-type interests, I have two main hobbies: assembling small scale plastic kits or models, and collecting books, and history books in particular. Can’t get enough of them. As much of what I am interested in is focused on this part of the world, it would appear I’m in almost the ideal place to satisfy these lusts. Well, there are a few problems.
The first one is a decided lack of money. Due to some appalling lack of planning, I’ve got less money to spend than I would really like. I know I have a great and oversized limit on the plastic card, but that is being approached at light speed. The sudden financial crisis has hit the exchange rate badly, and while NZ$1 = 15RR, or thereabouts, several small purchases can add up to a lot of RR and then that translates into a significant pile of NZ$.
The second is that, while plastic models make be quite cheap and light, they are also fragile. So they have to go into the carry-on luggage, or be subjected to postage. Poor choices in packing can result in some serious hissy-fits when I get home. It doesn’t bear thinking about. I was asked, by a friend, if I could buy a particular model kit while I was on my peregrinations. Not really a problem from the money point of view, but the man wanted a 1/48th scale Polish bomber. The kit is rather large and I would have had trouble keeping that intact, if I’d bought it. So, sorry Brett, but it stays in Poland and you’ll just have to buy it over the Internet.
Books don’t suffer from the fragility problem that models do, and I could go mad and buy heaps. I mean, the Russians are obsessed with the history of WWII and there are several small publishing houses devoted to producing memoires, illustrated histories, monographs and what have you on the subject. Their own history is also quite interesting (well, it is too me) and there’s a lively publishing scene devoted to that subject too. But the really good ones are HUGE and cost accordingly; a good, and I do mean good, tome on the subject will cost well over 1000RR.
You’ll probably notice I said "tome" – we’re talking something that would sit alongside the Encyclopaedia Britannica and not look out of place. Which means the bugger is going to weigh heaps. My suitcase was shedding handles on the way here. I don’t want to have to carry it by the zips on the return journey, or pay God knows how much in excess baggage. These big books weigh over a kilo, and my bag weighed close to 20kg, the limit, as it was.
I could buy a few SF books and pass them around the club to enjoy. I’m sure you’d like that – most of what is available is in, surprise, surprise, Russian. And who, apart from me, reads that? I know, we’ll get Leonid to read them to us. However, having only a working knowledge of Russian, I am hard-pressed to choose really good representatives of the genre from the local selection. SF is still considered a viable and acceptable literary expression in Russia. This comes of it being one of the few acceptable forms of escapist fiction that could sneak a broad range of ideas, and criticisms, past the censers. Thus, the bookshops are having a hard time parting me and my shekels.
Of course, apart from the local writers, and there seem to be quite a few, foreign authors are also translated into Russian. Sometimes it takes me a moment to recognise their names after they’ve been transliterated, but it’s not that hard. The problems usually occur with W and H, not letters or sounds found in Russian.
But I have bought one Russian SF/Fantasy book: an omnibus edition of Night Watch, Day Watch¸ and Twilight Watch¸ by Sergei Luk’yanenko (and Vladimir Bacil’ev). It’s hardback, over 900 pages and I’ve managed to wade through 200 pages of Night Watch, mostly without the help of a dictionary. I’m not using the dictionary because firstly, I want to improve my Russian, and secondly, the safety net has to come down sometime. I brought the English translation of it with me, but somehow, I don’t know if I’ll read it. Actually, with the Russian, there’s a lot of guessing the word and “fill in the blanks”. Kind of fun, in an odd sort of way. I didn’t realise the books were actually three stories each. Once I’ve finished the first book, I might watch the film, in Russian of course.
Maybe I will buy a few more books. Tease you all with them.
Next post: My Normal Routine.

Visas

Before I set out for Russia, I had to apply for a visa. Nothing unusual about this, as many countries require a visa for entry. I was going to be here for 16 weeks or thereabouts, and so looked for the most cost-effective visa available. Unfortunately, what I wanted, time-wise, wasn’t an option. I could have spent oodles on a six month business visa, but that was ridiculous. And anyway, the Russian Embassy advised me to get a three month, single entry visa and said that after I’d been in the country a while, I could get it upgraded to a six or twelve month, multi-entry student visa. All well and good.
So I dutifully applied for my three month visa, including all the necessary paperwork: invitation from the host institute (KGU), passport, HIV-negative certificate, return post-paid envelope. After some to-ing and fro-ing, because some of the paperwork wasn’t quite what they wanted, my three month, single entry visa arrived – one week before I left New Zealand. Bit of nail-biting went on in that last fortnight, I can tell you.
Actually, because I was doing a quick plane change in Moscow to get to Warsaw, I was a little concerned that my visa requirements might need an extra entry to Russia. Or worse still, the flights might not connect properly and I would have to spend a night in Moscow because of bad weather or other delays. As it was, I got bumped to a flight three hours after my original one to Warsaw, but got to enjoy the luxuries of Lot Polish Airlines.
Arriving in Kazan, we were told to apply for the student visa one month (1st October onwards) later. I think they figured the serious students would have stayed and the chaff would fly away on what passes for a wind in these parts. This gave us all a chance to settle in, get used to the systems, and them a chance to sort out our first round of problems.
So October duly arrived, and I decided to apply for the student visa. I was a little slow of the mark and completed the necessary paperwork, payments and supply of photos only by 14 October. And then the waiting began. Of course, I didn’t expect the visa to materialise the next day. That would be a dream, even in New Zealand. We were told it would be about two weeks. That made it the end of October. Maybe the beginning of November if the Men in the Ministry were having a bad day.
People’s visas began to arrive in dribs and drabs. I started asking after three weeks, as that seemed reasonable. No, sorry, not here yet, the nice lady in the office said. I wasn’t worried; I still had three weeks on my old one. But hand over your passport, as we’re getting a whole bunch tomorrow and it’s easier to sort things out. In return I got a photocopy of the important bits of mine back. I returned the next day to discover it wasn’t ready. Come back tomorrow, she said.
Tomorrow started to acquire the flavour of mañana, as my passport lingered in the office safe. Where the visa was, nobody knew. The nice lady began to apologise to me every time I opened the door. Try again the day after tomorrow became the standard reply to my question “is it here yet?” Actually, Russian has a word for “the day after tomorrow”, and usually it has a definite meaning, which is, of course, the day after tomorrow. In this case, mañana loomed.
I got used to going to the office and hearing “no, maybe the day after tomorrow”. I started to get concerned. My old visa was due to expire in less than a week. Galina, my landlady, was a bit worried too; what would I do if it didn’t arrive. We didn’t talk about it. The Swiss gent in my class asked, in his slightly stilted English, if “I have yet got my visa”. The two young Scandinavians found his style amusing, and would copy it from time to time.
So, after a bout of food poisoning, a very mild dose of the flu, one huge night’s sleep, rock concert, and a ghastly shock as to the value of the Kiwi dollar (about half that of the US), I returned to the office and a really big shock – my visa had arrived (big drum roll and splash on the cymbals please, Mr Skins). I had been half expecting to have to bribe an MVD (Ministry of Internal Affairs, but in Russian) official for the pleasure of staying here another three-four weeks. But no, only 20RR to cover re-registering where I lived. I had my passport again.
I am no longer living in fear of being deported as an overstayer, or taking circuitous routes home, in case the MVD have me targeted. I don’t know if marrying a Russian would have done anything to improve my chances of staying here long term, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to find out. Finding a bride wouldn’t have been too difficult, but finding one I liked would’ve. Even Broderick Wells has standards. “You have a pulse, and I like that in a woman”, or “You’re breathing, and I’ve always admired that” may be fine sentiments for some, but I try to aim a little higher.
Anyway, now I can stay until mid-December, and cross the border as often as I like. However, the latter involves having the money to cross the border. I’m about 800km east of Moscow. The nearest country to here, not counting the technically independent autonomous republics littering the Russian Federation, is either Kazakhstan or the Ukraine. Both are at least 1200km away. And I’m almost broke. Sigh.
Next post: Got a Hobby?

Is It Winter Yet?

I arrived in Russia in late summer, and was expecting a reasonably steady decline of the temperatures into winter. Actually, I was expecting the daytime temperature to plunge sometime in mid- late-November, with nights progressively getting colder. So much for expectations, here’s reality: the weather fluctuated between hot, cool, and mild until mid October. Then cool was the norm. The locals asked me if I was cold (no). I wore the lightweight jacket most of the time.
Three weeks ago, on Freedom Day (commemorating kicking the Poles out of Moscow in 1612), I stepped out the door to go to the movies, and it snowed! We got 2cm over the next 24 hours. The temperature had dropped to -2C. Kazan was white, and I appreciated the central heating and other small amenities. But it didn’t last, and the temperature rose to +5C, the snow evaporated, and we had a couple of weeks of mild weather. The locals asked me if I was cold (still no). I started wearing the heavy jacket I bought at the market.
Now, these questions as to my being cold arise from one of my (bad) habits – I’m a smoker. I smoke a pipe. As Galina doesn’t smoke, I figured it was fair and reasonable to go outside to light up. The alternative, sending her out when I smoked, just didn’t seem fair. So I lurk outside, smoke a pipe, read my book, and chat to the locals. This is what prompts the “Cold?” questions. I wear a hat, my jacket, and stand out of the weather and near a street light. Previously they asked if I had enough light (yes).
When the temperature dropped to -2C, I was about ready to give up smoking. I remembered snow, but had forgotten how arse-numbingly cold continental winters can get. And this was only (hah, only) -2C. Breathe in, nostrils freeze, breathe out, nostrils thaw, breathe in, nostrils freeze – Mission Control, we have a problem. But I must have gotten accustomed to the cold, because my fingers still worked, and my feet weren’t blocks of ice.
Following the first snow, and subsequent Eskimo summer, the temperature hovered close to, but above, freezing. My ears got used to cold. At first I wanted to charge off to the market and buy an ushanka – one of those lovely, warm sheepskin hats everybody wears in Hollywood films set in Russia. They have fold-down flaps to keep the ears warm. But then, once I leave Kazan, where and when would I wear it? We pretend Aukalofa gets winter, but really, is it THAT cold?
This week we got another dumping of snow. They’d been predicting lots for Thursday and wet snow on Friday. They were three quarter right – we got some snow Thursday, hardly worth mentioning, and then the wet stuff arrived Friday. It looked like snow, it fell like snow, it landed like rain. It was raining, I mean snowing, quite hard when I went to KGU. My hat got soaked. The ground was covered in white slush. Puddles formed. My favourite shortcut turned into a half-frozen swamp (an old house burnt down, they tore out the remains, and tracked dirt everywhere). People shuffled down the street, skidding on the white muck underfoot. I hate wet snow. I now know what galoshes are really for.
I have a new phrase I listen for on the weather forecast – mokriy sneg (мокрый снег). It translates into wet shoes, wet socks, cold feet, and grumpy Russians. But because the temperature was +3C, the snow soon melted and everything dried out, sort of. It is close to freezing, after all. But for a while the statue of young Lenin looked like it had been the target of a large flock of west-bound pigeons. Kind of appropriate, considering what he did to the country.
And then Saturday and Sunday the temperature climbed again. It hit +8C on Sunday, which is positively tropical. I wore lightweight socks, a summer shirt, and even considered putting the summer jacket back on. I began to wonder why I packed the really heavy winter socks – the ones that come up to my nads and contain half a sheep each.
But now we look like getting winter for real. The forecast for the next few days is for temperatures to drop below zero, even during the day, and more snow. Maybe I’ll wear my gloves, my scarf. The heavy jacket has an extra lining, which I’ve taken out. I’ve worn it with the lining – breathing makes me sweat.
However, the one downside (I don’t mind the cold), is that I have to wear one hell of a lot more to KGU. Once inside the door, I then strip down to my undies to climb the stairs. There are five lifts that work, and they only stop at selected floors. There are 50,000 students all pushing and shoving to get in them. As my lessons are on the 13th floor, I work up a decent thermal output by the time I arrive by foot. It’s also quicker than waiting for the lifts. But I have to carry the pack, my jacket, sweatshirt and any other clothes I’ve decided might prove useful today. Still, it warms me up.
Next post: Visas.

Too Many Pockets

Before I left the Shaky Islands, I bought myself a new backpack. Not the heavy duty, tramping kind, but one of those ones you can throw a few bits and pieces in, such as books and a water bottle, to use as a day pack. Excellent construction, robust fabric, and a plethora of pockets. Just looking at it, I can count seven, strategically located to be readily accessible. Provided I’ve taken the pack off and have turned it to face me.
When I was travelling here, it was carefully arranged so I could find anything vital quickly. Hah! I may have been organised, but gravity and the occasional jostle rearranged things. Or I had to empty a big pocket to find something that used to be on top. Or was actually in another pocket, like, in my trousers.
I have a pair of lightweight parachute pants, or so they could be described. Again, seven pockets artfully arranged to provide maximum storage for least bulge, assuming I’m not carrying really fat objects, or loads of small items. Two pockets are closed with Velcro, two with domes, and one with a zip. Great for confusing pickpockets. Or maybe it’s in my jacket.
My summer jacket has four pockets, out front where I can see them. Velcro and zips are the order of the day, and it’s a nice pale grey; which means that at night I’m fairly visible and dirt shows like mad. Either that or it’s in my shirt pocket under the jacket and sweatshirt. Actually, as it was summer when I arrived in Europe, sweatshirts didn’t enter the equation. But here and now, I still have the opportunity of searching up to 20 pockets for something I left at home. Just as well I’m not wearing the money belt – there’s another two pockets.
I’ve got my daily haulage down to a routine. Textbooks into main pack pocket. Laptop goes there too, if I’m off to McD’s to use the free internet (Galina doesn’t have internet, or a computer). Water bottle into the pack’s second pocket, along with any lunch. Pocket dictionary into a side pocket, and umbrella into the last outside pocket. I try not to use the umbrella, on loan from Galina, as it’s leopard skin print and looks a bit girly. Shirt pocket gets KGU (have I ever said its pronounced kay-gay-oo?) student card, pen and Kazanski map. Trousers get mobile phone and jacket gets wallet and keys. I can now find what I want in 5 seconds flat. Provided I stick to my routine packing. Then I do the Aussie haka looking for what I probably left at home. Or have hidden under a hankie.
Of course, because I’ve got all these wonderful pockets in the backpack, and I’ve just remembered two more plus its mobile phone holder I’ve stowed, I have to deal with zips. Lots of them. The three main pockets of the pack have double sliders with long tags to find them. The tags are sufficiently long that it’s possible to accidently close them in a lower pocket (done that) or confuse left and right slider. The zips, sliders and tags are all black. Naturally, I’ve opened what I wanted to close and vice versa, and pulled them together when I wanted to pull them apart. On these occasions, I start questioning the heritage of the pack, or my own intelligence.
The pack is sufficiently commodious to allow me to carry my books, laptop and laundry together, and still have room for a few groceries. However, I try to limit these juxtapositions – the laptop is heavy, laundry is bulky, and groceries often include milk. I don’t want my clean laundry or laptop to suddenly be ruined by a burst bag of milk. Never mind that the pack would smell like a block of cheese if I didn’t rinse it quickly enough.
I carry the pack with me most of time. Great for incidental purchases, stowing the extra clothes cold weather implies, and that’s what it was designed for – holding stuff. Most of the larger shops have lockers by the entrance, and my pack is an easy fit. Just remember to put the straps all the way into the locker. I once returned to my locker to discover my bag was trapped in the locker directly below. Naturally, this happened when my Russian was still rudimentary. The keys to the lockers have tags designed to remind you that you’ve got a new key – they’re HUGE. Hard to ignore, even with 10 pockets.
Next post: Is it Winter yet?

Living with a Foreign Language

Or: You thought you could speak the lingo.
How many of you actually speak another language, apart from your mother tongue? Okay, that chap from Finland, put your hand down. And you too, brother of mine; three years of high school French and one of German do not make you fluent in a foreign language. And anybody counting computer languages, just try and order a cup of coffee with one, or ask about the weather.
Before I got here, I thought I was reasonably fluent in Russian. Actually, I thought I was passably okay, capable of being understood if I spoke clearly, but not fluent, not really. I was wrong, wrong, wrong!!! Russian is a bit harder to master than French or German. For a start, there are six noun cases. (Yes, Finnish has 14 cases, but no prepositions.) It is one of the harder Indo-European languages for English speakers to learn.
Let’s start off with those noun cases. Anybody with a nodding acquaintance of grammar knows about subject and object, or direct and indirect object. English, to quote Blackadder, is an uninflected Indo-European language. We determine subject, object, and indirect object by word order and the occasional preposition – sort of like French. Russian does it by changing the ending of the words. This carries over into the plurals, so there are at least 12 endings to memorise. But wait, there’s more. Russian has three genders (yep, gender – words have gender; humans have sex) which starts to multiply the endings. Plus, there are groups of nouns within each gender that end differently in the base form (nominative singular, to be technical) and they decline slightly differently to the parent group. And then there are the old forms, specials and other irregulars. This carries over to adjectives too, which agree with the noun in gender, case and number. This I can cope with. Time for vodka.
Verbs are just as fun. I know, my idea of fun is not what yours is. English verbs display two forms, perfect and imperfect, or result and progress. Russian verbs do much the same, but the verb either changes from one conjugation (verbs conjugate) to another, or adds a prefix. Or rare occasions it will do both. And there is no present tense version of the verb “to be”. This I can cope with. Apply vodka.
There are a few other vagaries of the language which are testing, such as odd (to Anglo eyes) consonant clusters at the beginning of words – dn-, mn-, vkl- (these exist, I’m not making this up) and all those consonants are pronounced. Of course, prepositions, like “of” and “by”, exist and alter a nouns case. Some can give a choice of two cases, depending on the meaning of the preposition, and what is really being meant. Again, this I can cope with. Apply vodka.
What I find difficult is having my brain wake up in English every morning and slowly accept that it is listening to Russian. Half-heard snatches of TV are bashed to sound English. I have to think when I speak to Galina, first thing. Mercifully, I’ve only said “good morning” instead of “dobroe utro” (written доброе утро and pronounced dob-ree oo-tra) once, as far as I’m aware. Equally frustrating is forgetting a word and spending a couple of seconds trying to remember it. This really cuts the flow of a conversation, and is a bit depressing for the confidence. Or realising I’ve put a past tense verb into the wrong gender. Bit of nuisance suddenly realising you’ve given somebody a sex-change mid conversation.
This habit of thinking in the wrong language means that I often need to make two attempts at understanding people when they first speak to me, at any time of the day. It gets even worse if I’ve been speaking English, hanging out with Team America, writing my blog, anything where the auto-reflex is English. And this applies to numbers too. I’m quite happy reading large chunks of Russian, but suddenly hit a number and the brain switches back to the mother tongue. Everybody I’ve asked seems to have this problem – doesn’t matter what degree of fluency people have, for a long time numbers go to native tongue first.
This tendency to push words towards the primary language means that sports’ chants, for example, can become something entirely new. At the hockey game, for a long time us Anglos thought the home fans were shouting “Ak Bars, we will buy them” or variations on this (in a Chinese whispers sort of way). What was being shouted was “Ak Bars, viigraem” (pronounce each vowel separately), which translates as “Ak bars, we will win”.
So I try and get as much listening practice in as I can, to force the brain into thinking Russian. “Hah, has to start thinking first,” I can hear some of you say. Listening practice involves Russian TV, listening to shop musak, not ignoring the conversations of passers-by, that sort of thing. Of course, it all comes to a crashing halt when they’re speaking Tatar. Aargh. Time for more vodka.
Next Post: Too many pockets!

Kazan

I’ve been studying here for over two months and I’ve said very little about Kazan. Silly me. Obviously, Kazan is in Russia. Actually, Kazan is both in Russia and not in Russia – it is the capital of the Republic of Tatarstan, an autonomous region in European Russia where the predominant ethnic group used to be Tatars. The Tatars are the Volga Bulgars, not to be confused with vulgar Bolgers or vulgar bulges. Tatar is a Turkic language, and theoretically, the locals speak it, but it is fighting a losing battle with Russian.
Kazan is about the same size as Auckland, about 1.2 million people; spread out over God knows how much land. There’s a small river, the Kazanka, which flows through the middle of the city and sort of divides it in half. As I haven’t been far beyond the city centre, I have no idea how far Kazan actually extends. The Volga forms a natural boundary to the west – all of Kazan is on the left bank of the Volga. Understandable when said river is over one kilometre wide. It is probably wider; there is a dam about 100km downstream and a rather sizeable lake extends upstream well past Kazan. This part of Russia is quite flat, and I’m not sure how big any bridge would have to be to cross the Volga here.
In 2005 Kazan celebrated its millennium, which makes it older than Moscow (on paper, anyway). A large number of buildings got a thorough clean and tidy-up, apparently, and the centre of town is quite pretty. There are several old churches and stately buildings that would be a jewel in any town. The mosques are all quite new – the majority of them are only 150 years old at most. I think they used to be built of wood and not stone, so anything ancient hasn’t survived. I’m not sure how much stone there is available locally, and traditional Russian architecture features a lot of wood.
Speaking of which, there are still quite a few old style wooden houses to be seen near the centre of town. Most of them are in need of a bit of maintenance, as the climate is kind of harsh. Naturally, most of them also need re-piling and a lick of paint, but for all that they look pretty. At some point in the 19th century, some of them were rebuilt in brick. The result is a brick structure that resembles the old wooden house in shape and decoration, but with the obviously brick surface texture. Not unpleasant on the eye, and quite a few of these have survived. But most have been demolished to make room for Kazan’s expanding population.
Tenement housing takes two main forms: that built during the Khrushchev era and the modern stuff. The Khrushchev buildings are generally quite small, functional, and opulence is not a by-word associated with them. I live in one and the banisters on the stairs are reinforcing rods; lovely. Again, the main fabric is red brick, and like the wooden houses, most of them are starting to show their age. Maintenance is an ongoing problem for the city, which owns most of them. Out in the suburbs they can reach seven storeys, but mine is only three. Luckily, I live on the ground floor and only have to negotiate the stairs if I’m being the good neighbour.
The modern buildings are a minimum of five storeys and feature that wonderful innovation, an elevator. Gosh! From what I’ve heard, the apartments are bigger. Ours is a one bedroom, with lounge, kitchen, small storeroom and conveniences. You would not want a big family in this house. Some of the new two bedroom units are advertised as being at least 100m2, which would dwarf this place. There was a building boom which is grinding to a halt due to the current financial crisis, and there are a number of half completed buildings littered around town. On the whole, the new buildings are reasonably pretty, with that Central/Eastern European roofline and bricks of two shades, red and yellow, used quite decoratively. Mind you, it takes them ages to finish anything. They were working on the steps of one building on my usual route for two months. Finally, they’ve finished.
Dotted around the older part of town are churches, both Russian Orthodox and other denominations. As a rule, the churches are pretty, but getting decent photos is sometimes problematic – tram and trolleybus wires lurk everywhere. The eye may filter them out, but cameras don’t. I’ve found a few monasteries too. One particularly pretty one is right in the middle of an industrial zone, and must be a welcome island of calm.
All the “important” buildings are illuminated at night, as were the fountains. I say were because they’ve been drained and covered for winter. No point illuminating the inside of a wooden box. At night the Kremlin is particularly impressive, and rightly deserves its UNESCO World Heritage award. KGU sports a couple of awards from Soviet times, both to do with Lenin. But he is not the only famous student of KGU. Leo Tolstoy studied here too.
Littered around the town are plaques commemorating various famous artists and scientists. The Russians and Tatars are rightly proud of the creative talent of their citizens. Naturally, the plaques are in the two official languages. Sometimes it’s hard to find a building without a plaque on it. To escape them, you can stroll in the parks. There are several small parks close to home.
And then there are the stadia. Kazanski Rubin (rubies) won the Russian football championship with three games to go, and the local ice hockey team, Ak Bars (snow leopard), is currently second. Both have their own stadia, with associated shops and what have you. The basketball and volleyball teams are doing well, and they share the Basket Hall. I’m not sure where they’re placed in the various championships, but I get the impression they close to first. The water polo team is pretty good too.
If culture (I’ve mentioned the theatres and museums before) and sport aren’t your thing, then there is shopping and going to the movies. There are a number of malls within easy walk, as well as the main market, with clothes and shoes and God knows what else on offer. The clothes are cheap, but fitting rooms are a bit scarce. Haggling over the price seems to be acceptable practice. Most of the students have been there at least once.
Next: Living with a foreign language.

Russian Cuisine

The Russians, like everybody else, enjoy their food. Naturally, they have a national cuisine that is slightly different from their neighbours, but at the same time enjoys many familiar ingredients. When I mentioned I was off to Russia, many people said I would drown in borsch. This isn’t quite true. My landlady has made it maybe once. Schi (щи), or cabbage soup, is another Russian staple and I’ve only had that in restaurants. Another popular soup is noodle soup (I forget the local name) and is more Tatar than Russian.
But if there is one ingredient that is truly indicative of Russian cuisine, it would have to be sour cream (сметана). This gets applied to just about everything in sight – a spoonful in the borsch (борщ), fired over the blinis, onto the salad as dressing. The list is endless. It’s just as well I both like it and am not allergic or there could be a few problems. Beetroot may be used to make borsch, but I don’t think Galina has it in the house otherwise.
Blinis, of course, are another staple of the Russian table. They can be sweet, and filled with banana, or chocolate, or jam, or they can be savoury and jammed full of mushrooms, chicken, ham, vegetables, or whatever. Naturally, sour cream goes on top of either. Typically, Galina gives me small ones (about 10-15cm across) for breakfast once a week – delicious. The important ingredient is sour milk. I learnt this when some milk had turned and was about to pour it down the drain. No, no, that will do wonderfully for blinis tomorrow, I was told. As I’m not allowed in the kitchen when she cooks, I’m not sure of Galina’s exact recipe. But she makes then at the small end of the scale. Commercial ones can be 50cm in diameter and usually the kitchens have special hot plates just for cooking them.
Another popular feature is fish, or rather, trout. Russia is a land of rivers, and river fish make a considerable portion of the diet. The supermarket freezer has whole, filleted trout by the dozens. I don’t buy them simply because they make more than three meals. Kind of difficult when I’m cooking for one; but Galina cooks them every now and again. Nice, but plenty of bones.
Other things carry over from normal European cuisine: potatoes and pasta are popular. No matter how many potatoes or onions are served, in the house, used in the recipe, Russians only refer to them in the singular. All pasta is known as macaroni, doesn’t matter what shape it is. Another favourite is pelmeni, the Russian equivalent of ravioli. They come in a number of fillings, usually ground meat, and I love them. Another common dish is kasha, which may or may not be made of split millet. Usually boiled up like porridge and served for breakfast, it can also be reheated in the frying pan and served as the starchy bit of dinner.
And then there is the bread. Russian black bread is very tasty and filling. It is also heavy. I’m sure if it was cooked just a little longer, it would make excellent bricks. It is a lot stronger than ordinary New Zealand bread. But so is Russian white bread. Let’s face it, here they make GOOD bread, and in NZ they make rubbish. Bread is served with just about anything, and is still considered a staple.
Being as I live in Kazan, I also get Tatar food. This resembles Russian food, but with a theoretical Moslem influence. The only real difference I’ve been able to spot is that Tatar recipes tend to have no pork in them. Everybody eats triugols (three corners), sort of the Russian equivalent of a Cornish pasty. They have a big brother, called a samsa, and there are plenty of other filled pastries to kill hunger, as well as sausages and cheeses, cheesecakes, torts and biscuits.
It’s hard to go hungry in Russia. Next post: all about Kazan.

Culture

In an earlier post I commented on male/female behavioural patterns. This is part of the local culture, but only part. Culture also includes hosting guests, going to the theatre, and all manner of little things. For a start, in Kazan there are two competing cultures – Russian and Tatar. The Tatars take great delight in telling people they are not Russians but Tatars. The Russians, for their part, are proud to be Russian. The Tatars are the first foreigners the Russians conquered. Actually, they marched over the Mordvians, a Finno-Ugric people living south-west of here, and the El-Mari to the north-west (more Finno-Ugrians) before conquering Kazan, but as the other others put up no resistance they weren’t counted. It’s pretty easy to tell Tatars and Russians apart once you get given a name – the Russians have obviously Russian names and the Tatars do not.
Actually, this differentiation into ethnic groups dates back to at least Lenin’s time. Stalin was the first Commissar of Minorities, and people were differentiated by their ethnic groups. I think this was a reaction against Tsar Nicholas II and his “One country, one faith, one people” policy. The nett result is that there are about 25 autonomous regions, republics and administrative units where Russian and another language co-exist as equals.
So far, I’ve been to two high-brow cultural events. The first was the 350th anniversary of the birth of Vivaldi. Lots of Baroque music, played by the Tatarstan National String Quintet (the usual string quartet plus harpsichordist) and guest artists. They were very good, and the concert hall was a work of art. Pity I left the camera at home. Then a week later, off to the ballet to watch “1001 Nights” by Amurov. Gorgeous, well danced, great seats and an afternoon well spent. If you’re a culture vulture, Russia is your country. Both events came to the grand total of 150RR. That’s right, 150RR, or about NZ$10.
The theatres are beautiful, well appointed and well attended. The ballet changes every few days. I could have seen “Spartacus” recently but failed to get off my arse in time. There are at least five large theatres in town, two concert halls, and several “national” artistic institutions – Tatar and Russian. Technically, the Tatars are Muslim, but don’t remind them of the rules. They drink like fish, eat pork, and I’ve only seen one women in full burqa. Most of the women will only put a headscarf on at the mosque.
One interesting feature of any large venue is a free coat check, or garderobe. Checking the coat at the beginning of an event is nice and easy. They take the excess luggage, hang it up and give you a numbered tag. Collecting it at the end of an event, however, resembles a rugby scrum as 5000 impatient Russians all try to get their coat first. After the string quintet it was hell, but after the ballet, the old gal in the garderobe ignored the young ladies all clamouring for service and reached over them to take my tags. This concept of a garderobe is important when the weather forces you to wear one, two, or even three extra layers.
The same concept applied at the Basket-Hall, where I saw the local basketball team thrash a visiting Israeli team (Uniks v. Napoel, 88:66) in a European Super league match (or something, it was basketball). Ticket price was 100RR. The cheerleaders weren’t that great, but they danced their hearts out. Volleyball is held at the same venue and I’m told it’s free. Think I’ll go to a few volleyball games. The press at the garderobe wasn’t – only about 50 people used it, so there was no trouble collecting clothing, or even depositing it.
Of course, Russians love to welcome their guests, and will look for any excuse to have a party, or a drink or something. Tell them you love the country and you go up several notches in their estimation. Tell them you love the people (but don’t make the same mistake President Carter’s Polish translator made) and you’re one step off sainthood. Eat, drink, be merry, and offer a toast or two to your hosts.
The Russians also have a sense of humour and love telling and hearing jokes. Despite the appearance of the oligarchs, Russians are still an egalitarian bunch. Money may talk, but most Russians aren’t impressed by money in and of itself. If you have it, you’re expected to spend it on the deserving poor, your relations, other beggars, etc.
In restaurants, a tip is generally given (~10%) provided of course the service warrants it. Naturally, in food courts, tipping doesn’t apply, nor in restaurants like McD’s. Russians smokers have not been hit by the Health & Safety Nazis, and it is quite common for restaurants to have smoking and non-smoking sections, or even just one section – smoking. In fact, smoking is sufficiently prevalent that hookahs (or water pipes) are common at restaurants. Nobody smokes them on the street, but then, they’re hardly renowned for being portable. Even young ladies will puff away on a hookah and nobody seems to think anything of it. Sort of like cigars after a meal.
We’ve just had a national holiday, 4th November, which celebrates kicking the Poles out of Moscow in 1612. The holiday was introduced to replace the October Revolution celebrations, which were held on the 7th, and kind of became moot after the fall of Communism. Then Tatarstan had a Constitution Day on 6th November, celebrating their foundation. Made for a confusing week. Even Luc the Swiss missed Monday classes; most un-Swiss.
Of course, having talked about restaurants and parties, I’d better talk about food: so next post: Russian Cuisine.

Russian TV

I have a television in my room. There’s one in the kitchen, and Galina has a big flat screen in the lounge. This means that there is a lot of opportunity to watch TV. I take that opportunity most chances I can get. This is kind of odd for me, as I never used to watch that much at home. But it has become part of my routine and part of my study. Listening to spoken Russian is just as important as reading it, doing my homework or having conversations – I learn new words, correct pronunciation, stress, grammar, and get to see a few good programmes.
First off, there are more channels to watch in Kazan than in Auckland; at least 15 at last count. They vary between the seemingly nationwide First channel, to news, sport and regional channels. There is something there for most tastes. Provided, of course, you understand Russian; living in Tatarstan, theoretically there are two official languages, but I’ve yet to find a broadcast in Tatar.
Naturally, I have some favourite programmes, as well as a favourite channel. For comedies, I will watch Univer, Наша Russia, and Смеш без Правило (Laughter without Rules). Univer is a Russian variation on Friends, and is set in a university hostel (I think in St-P). The new boy moves into the hostel and shares a room with two stereotypes, one sports-obsessed student and one persistent joker. Across the hall are two girls, the blonde is interested in the highlife and the other a more serious student. The new boy is the son of an oligarch, and this actor plays his part well. It’s worth watching just to see his facial expressions. Tuesday there was a 9 hour marathon, and my bum lasted 4½ hours before I had to go for a walk. But it was good, and fun, and I learnt the back story because I’d missed the first few episodes.
Наша Russia takes the mickey out of Russia and Russians mercilessly. It follows a number of stereotypes in a series of skits, and nobody escapes the barbs. Смеш без Правило is a showcase for new/young stand-up comedians operating under theatre sports rules. I may not understand most of it, but the good ones worth the effort. All these shows are on TNT, whatever that is an abbreviation of.
For main news, I watch channel Vesti, which is basically the Russian version of CNN. If my social life was worse, I’d watch more of this channel, as it has magazine programmes sprinkled through its broadcast on such things as space exploration, sport, and other things of interest. Somebody tell Matt they have a website, www.vesti.ru, which is also in English and should contain articles on cosmonautics. They also give weather reports, but I think their estimates are for “now”, and not tomorrow.
For weather, I prefer to rely on Kazan’s REN TV. It gives accurate forecasts for the Tatarstan Republic and Kazan. The presenters are an interesting couple (they swap every few days). He is about 55, stout, dresses casually and always starts with “Evening good” (of course, he says this in Russian, with that word order, most Russians would say “good evening”). After giving the forecast he then celebrates the birthday of some famous son of the Republic, giving a potted history of their career. I get the impression he knows most of them personally. She is also at least 50, wears Tatar national costume, I think, and is a big girl. My guess is size 20 and a J-cup. If she ever turned side-on, she would blot out half the map. Not something you would see on NZ TV.
Naturally, the Russians don’t produce enough local product to fill all the channels, and imported programmes fill the gaps. These are almost always dubbed into Russian. One annoying feature is that the dubbing is an over-dub with the original dialogue still there. The over-dub often doesn’t completely obliterate the original, resulting in some aural confusion. One film I watched was in French, Polish, Swedish and Russian originally, but we got to see it totally in Russian with snatches of the other languages overlapping the Russian – weird. I’ve found a channel that has Buffy, Angel and Firefly. I’d watch, but I’m just channel-surfing in the ad-breaks during the news, or weather, or something.
I don’t watch much sport, but the local football, basketball, ice hockey and volleyball teams are all doing well. Kazan “Rubin” (Ruby) has won the premier league championship and is in one semi-final of the league cup. The ice hockey team, AK Bars (“Ak” is Tatar for white, and “bars” is either a snow leopard or a winged leopard, I’ve yet to confirm this point) is second in the national league and have a good chance of winning it. But coverage is patchy and I haven’t bothered buying a local TV guide.
All this TV watching falls loosely under the title of “study” or advanced language acquisition. Want to improve your foreign language comprehension? Watch soap operas – they take five minutes covering the one point, and repetition is always useful. Got told my Russian had improved a lot today, compared to a month ago. Felt quite chuffed.
Next post: Culture.

The Weather

One of the popular misconceptions about Russia is that it has one season: winter. Maybe I’m wrong, and people assume that winter is 6 months long. So far I’ve been here two months and northern Siberia apart, the temperature is still above 0C throughout the country. Russia is a large country, and there are many regional climates, with the south being considerably warmer average temperature than the north. But, yes, European Russia does have an aggressively cold winter. This still has yet to arrive.
When I arrived in Kazan it was officially still summer. The daytime temperatures were over 20C, and not much rain. Well, most days were like that. The first full day was a little cold and wet. And then an unseasonable cold snap arrived and temperatures fell to 10 or so. The locals complained, the meteorological guys explained that it would be this way until October, and we had to put up with it. There were demands to turn the heating on early. I should explain that the city is responsible for heating housing blocks, and usually the heating gets turned on early in October. We got heat on 30 September. The next day, it was warmer both inside and outside. Typical.
Of course, after summer comes autumn and the weather gets colder, but slowly. I bought a very warm leather jacket at the markets and have worn it maybe 10 times – it’s too warm (both the weather and the jacket). I know it is only early November, but I probably won’t wear the jacket regularly for at least a fortnight.
As we have a continental climate, the weather is quite stable. If it’s fine in the morning, then chances are it will be fine all day, maybe even all week. What wind there is tends to be quite light. I grew up in Wellington, so any wind here gets treated as a breeze, because really, the wind ain’t that strong. The expectation among the locals is that snow will arrive soon. It used to be that snow would start about the time of the holiday to mark the October Revolution. But not this year, because it’s still over 10C.
Having said all that, mornings at the moment are cool, almost cold. KGU is on a small hill and catches any breeze going. The city has turned off the fountains, covered them up and is getting set for snow. For my part, I’m still wearing summer shirts under my jersey and light jacket, and dropping two layers of clothing the moment I arrive at KGU. Russian heat their houses and public buildings to a balmy 25 or so, and even walking around in outdoor clobber indoors can make me sweat. I also tend to walk up the stairs to my floor. Not that I’m a fitness freak, but there are only 4 lifts and there seems to be 10,000 students wanting to use them. It’s faster to walk anyway.
I have yet to see a really heavy downpour, but assume they do occur. The heaviest rain I’ve met was in Kaliningrad, and that is close to the Baltic. Of course, the landscape is kind of flat; being as Russia is essentially one great plain, so orogenic rain is not common here. I think Auckland gets more rain in a week than Kazan does in a month. I’ll talk more about the weather when the snow starts.
Next: Russian TV

Trains

Of course, before I went to Moscow, I had to buy a train ticket or two to get there and back. Easier said than done, even in Russian. I knew where the station was, knew what class I wanted to travel, and how I was going to pay, and even knew which dates I wanted to be in Moscow. I arrived at the main railway station and headed inside, looking for the ticket office. I should’ve guessed that, as this was Russia, the ticket office would not be in the station itself.
I asked at the information desk, and was told to go back outside, take the door on the left and go to the fourth floor (well, that’s what I thought she said). Got as far as the 2nd floor and realised I was at the first aid office. Quick explanation and they directed me to another building. My understanding of Russian not being perfect, I decided that I’d try every alternative in the direction indicated, while still looking for the place they said (Past that building, next door after the Police office).
My first choice proved to be where I could buy tickets, but only for local trains, or electrichka as the Russians call them. Excellent, I was getting warm. Out the door again, and not up those steps, because that’s the Police and, hey, those nice First aid ladies were right. I’d found the long-distance ticket office, only 150m from the main station – same side of the road, but 150m away. Now to buy tickets. After a short wait in the queue, it was my turn.
Either my pronunciation was bad, or she was being difficult. I had to write down the dates I wanted. Quick glance at the calendar, scribble dates, wave passport and credit card, and hey presto, return tickets to Moscow for 1500RR (under NZ$100). I think the transaction took less time than the search for the ticket office. The next day I realised I’d made a bit of a cock up with the outward leg, and was leaving on Friday night, not Thursday. Back to the ticket office, armed with a couple of new words – mistake, and to change (vt.). The correction went a lot smoother than the original purchase, I got offered a choice of upper or lower bunks, and had to pay an extra 200RR because of the way the system works.
Careful reading of the ticket indicated I was in wagon 1, berth 24, class platskart, which is third class sleeper. I arrived at the station, and began hunting my carriage Obviously; wagon1 would be at one end or other. And by the time the eyes had registered the carriage numbers, I was almost by the locomotive, and the wrong end. Walk back 20+ carriages and wait with the other peasants. At least I had a bed, unlike sitting class, where you have a chair. Went through the ticket/passport control and got on the train (what is this thing about passports?).
Chatted with my neighbours, then returned to my berth: I was sharing with a middle-aged Tatar family – him, her and a sister. The train started off and after a few minutes out came the food. So I dragged out my food, some alcohol, and instantly the mood improved. Basic rule #1: share. They’d come prepared for a long trip, and I’d had dinner, but they appreciated the sentiment. After dinner and a cup of tea, we retired to bed, with me on the top bunk.
It took some time for me to get comfortable, as Russian trains are heated, like their houses, to damn warm. The sheet was enough cover, but a blanket was available for the cold blooded. The bunk came with a mattress, pillow, pillow cover, and a sheet. Security was adequate: either put your bags in the locker under the bottom bunk, or above the top one. And as there are stewards in the carriage, it’s reasonably safe. The next morning as we were packing up, my Tatar bunk-mates insisted I have the leftovers from dinner – cheese, biscuits, some fruit.
Left Kazan at 19:30, and arrived in Moscow at 7:00. It was still dark o’clock as the Russians were on daylight saving, but dawn was just breaking. The return trip was scheduled for 22:08 on the Sunday. Would I have good bunk mates, like the family I shared with? I wondered this as I waited on the platform on Sunday evening. I had the same wagon and berth numbers going as coming. Filled into the train, checked my space, and lo and behold! The same family as before; we all burst out laughing so loud another passenger came to see if everything was all right. They’d been to a wedding in Moscow and were returning to Kazan. We chatted a bit, then everybody hit the sack.
Next morning I managed to take a few photos out the window, but discovered that the camera liked to take its time about warming up. Missed a few choice shots because the camera wasn’t ready. Not its fault, just the nature of digital cameras. I was used to the heat by now, and so slept okay, and the train arrived on time in Kazan at 9:30 Monday. We all said goodbye, and I staggered home to grab a quick shower and a coffee before class. Russian trains: love them.
Next: the weather.

Moscow - The Big M

One of the things about Moscow that is immediately apparent is its size. It took about an hour for the train to go through the suburbs and arrive at, surprisingly enough, Kazanskiy Station. (I should spend half this blog talking about Russian trains, and train etiquette but that is another story.) Having collected my bag, which wasn’t difficult because this was a train, not a plane, I went in search of the nearest Metro station, Komsomolskaya. As I’d slept poorly due to the heat, I strolled right past it in my hunt for a sign-board.
Looking at the station plane, I realised my mistake, walked back out onto the main platform and down into the Metro, with the intention of getting a ticket or ten. My Russian must have improved, because it only took two attempts to make myself understood – go me. Then came the hard part, finding the right platform. I wasn’t completely uninformed – I knew that Komsomolskaya was on the Circle Line and one other, but the platforms themselves are a fair distance underground. Anybody who has used The Tube knows the deepest station in London. It is shallow compared to Moscow (or St-P., which has the deepest average in the world). I descended into the bowels of the earth. Along with several thousand Muscovites on their morning commute.
Every Metro system around the world is the same: two quays, one up one down, at which trains arrive, people get off, people get on (usually at the same time) and after a short pause the train departs. And of course, newcomers will suffer from Murphy’s Law and make their first journey the wrong way; which I did. I realised my mistake halfway between two following stations clockwise that I was going the wrong way, got out at Taganskaya, walked to the other quay and went back in the anti-clockwise to Novoslobodskaya, where I got out, changed to another line, changed station names, and continued on to Dmitrovskaya, where I got out, rode the escalator back up from the bowels of the earth and met my friend, Muscovy Alex.
He was waiting with his mum, and the three of us went to my cheap, by Moscow standards, hotel, where I checked in, filled in the ubiquitous police registration form, borrowed 4500RR off Alex to pay for the room (2 nights, breakfast included) and went to the bank to repay Alex. It was Friday, and the bank queue took longer than the hotel fluffing, but eventually I was armed with enough money to do some damage. We then went touring. Alex knows my hobbies, so after a Metro ride to Sokol’niki station, we found a very good model shop. Kaching, 500RR spent. Then to another suburb, where we did a quick tour of an outside exhibition at a military museum.
Alex had arranged to meet his girlfriend at another Metro station, before we all went to lunch, so we had a wee rest before going to Yolki Palki for smorgasbord lunch. Yolki Palki is a chain of restaurants specialising in Russian cuisine, and well worth the visit. Delicious – not just borsch and sour cream. During lunch somebody dragged out a bottle of cognac and insisted we drink. Alex’s mum insisted on paying for lunch, and after demolishing my fair share of food, we waddled out, caught the Metro to Dynamo Stadium and did some more shopping. One of the interesting things about Russia is you will find little markets anywhere, and discovering one outside Dynamo Stadium was a joy.
By now it was getting late and I was starting to flag, so we headed back to my hotel, all the while being reminded of personal safety on the Metro. Apparently pickpockets are a major problem, and reducing temptation is a good idea. As is not getting your trouser cuffs caught in the escalator (I didn’t) and a number of other warnings. I’d ridden the Metro enough times now to spot the best carriages to get a seat, first or last, as well as understand the announcements (doors closing, following station..., respected passengers don’t forget your stuff). Got back to the hotel and promptly fell asleep.
Saturday, I headed to the main military museum at Victory Park. Victory Park is also the deepest Metro station in the world. It cheats because it’s under a hill, but the escalator ride takes forever. Of course, the weather had changed and I had intermittent drizzle. Not a problem inside the museum, but a bit of a nuisance outside as I toured the machinery of war. The collection was smaller than I expected, but still impressive. Pity I didn’t have time to go to Kubinka, where there are sheds full of the stuff. Then on to Red Square.
How could I go to Russia, to Moscow, and not go to Red Square? Impossible. The weather had improved, and I was able to photograph many famous landmarks without getting wet. Red Square is a pedestrian precinct and you can stroll around, find the best spot to capture the moment and so forth without worrying about cars, buses or trams getting in the way. There is also GUM, which takes up most of one long side of the plaza, and is now expensive shopping boutiques in a very, very large but pretty building. Lenin’s Mausoleum is smaller than I imagined, and the walls of the Kremlin are higher than I expected. Go there!!!
My feet were saying enough, and I was kind of hungry, not having had anything to eat since breakfast, so I decided to go to the hotel and then search for dinner. Got back to my street, and changed plans. The hotel could wait. Alex had recommended Pancho Pizza, a Mexican-Italian restaurant nearby, and I got a table for one in the no smoking section. Halfway through my main and who walk in: Alex’s mum and dad. I’m recognised, and immediately I’m at a table for three and dinner is now being paid for by my new mum. I love that woman. I also had to eat another main. Once more I waddle around Moscow. Because now we are sight-seeing at night, on the monorail.
The monorail is the slowest part of the Metro system, with an average speed of not much. But it gives some great views of northern Moscow, and as it was dark, by night. Took some more photos, thanked my hosts, staggered home, fell asleep.
Sunday I decided to walk from Dmitrovskaya to Sokol’niki – it’s not that far on the map – and photograph interesting monuments, buildings, etc., on the way. Got off to a bad start by walking the wrong way for 5 minutes before I spotted my mistake. Cursed myself for not thinking about this the easy way: Stalin’s Wedding Cake is in the middle of Moscow. It’s one of the tallest buildings and I should have been aiming at, not away, from it. Mistake corrected, I passed several edifices worth shooting, and confirmed my progress on street maps displayed at the bus stops.
My Russian had improved to the point where I was able to give somebody else directions, ask directions and understand them on Saturday, and even get complimented at a shop on speaking good Russian (Friday). However, it was not up to, “rain, rain, go away, come again another day”. Drizzle started about halfway through my peregrinations, and came and went and came again the closer I got to Sokol’niki. I gave in and dragged out the umbrella Galina had lent me. Looked a bit poofy, but I wasn’t getting wet. Well, not from the rain. At one point, a street cleaner went passed and my legs got sprayed.
I’d spotted a nice old church at Sokol’niki, and by the time I got there, the drizzle had turned to rain. But the photographing continued. I was also somewhat tired, as I’d walked for 3 hours, and was carrying my bag. I was taking the scenic route to Kazanskiy Station. I rested a bit, then gave in and jumped on the Metro. I got to Komsomolskaya, and decided to tour the Metro. I remember that there was a track over the Moscow River. I went looking. Ha, bloody tracks got put underground sometime in the 50’s, but it helped kill a couple of hours. After inspecting a number of stations and finally remembering that bridge fact, I emerged at Kazanskiy station. 6 hours till my train back to Kazan. Outside the station, and inspect the scenery. It was worth the energy. And just before I took my last shot it started raining again. That’s why it was my last shot. I took refuge back in the station, read a bit, then back outside for some night shots. I read some more, got bored and decided I could wait on the platform; there was only an hour to go.
Next post: Trains.

Study

Before I arrived in Russia, I thought my Russian was adequate. A couple of days in Kaliningrad knocked that idea out of me. I knew I had been lazy before I left, not revising, but my hearing seemed to be completely shot. Words were only sounds, and I could only understand 10% of what was said, unless they spoke really slowly. It was the same the first few days in Kazan.
I ended up in group with one Finn, one Swede, one Swiss, one Korean, and me, the token Southern Hemisphere representative in Kazan. For some reason, I am in a group that is junior to my progress at UoA. Or rather, it was. We have now moved past where I left some of the subject in Auckland and I’m making far fewer basic mistakes. I’ve made progress, or I’m less basic. But in some areas we are behind where I was at UoA: verbs of motion and forming participles have yet to be touched.
Even from here I can some people going, “verbs of motion?!?” Yes, Russian differentiates between arriving by transport, foot, boat, etc., and whether this is a one off event or something regular. Mind you, what do you expect from a language where introducing yourself is an advanced philological discussion? Hello, my name is Stephen – zdrastuyte, menya zovut Stefan (Здрастуйте, меня зовут Стефан). The tongue-breaker is just greetings, or be greeted (formal version, or addressing a group), and then “me they call” followed by one’s name. The “me” is in genitive even though it is the direct subject and should be accusative; it’s just one of those rules to do with pronouns and grammar. And the “they” attached to “call” is discarded because it’s so obvious (and the verb is in the "they" form anyway) that Russians don’t bother saying it. Confused? I chose to learn this language, so I won’t complain. Much. Today. Need vodka now.
Official, university study takes three hours a day, Monday to Friday. I heard about a singing class and joined that, so have an extra one and a half hours on Thursdays, and they show films on a Saturday for us foreigners, and sometimes I go to them. To begin with, classes focused on grammar, with one noun case at a time being presented, followed by phonetics. The latter is important in a language where the nominative plural, e.g. houses, is spelt the same way as the genitive singular, house’s. Okay, this example doesn’t work in English, but Russian has six noun cases, and some of the endings are repeated between singular and plural. So they differentiate by changing the stressed syllable within the word – words only have one stressed syllable. And stress, as in English, falls on the vowel. This affects how unstressed vowels are pronounced, as only stressed vowels get their full “book value”, and the unstressed ones are pronounced differently. Stressed “o” is similar to “o” in “coat”, and unstressed “o” is similar to “a” or even weaker. Understood? Want some vodka?
All this is very important and correct pronunciation helps with being understood; the same as with English. And it all takes a while to master, especially as Slavonic languages have black belts in consonant clusters. Not too bad if these lurk in the middle of the word, but at the beginning of a sentence is a challenge. The eyes read, the brain says can do, and the tongue says need vodka now! Any fluency I have goes right out the window the moment I trip over a consonant cluster. They either come out right first time or not at all.
But study ain’t only at the university. When you’re learning another language, study is anything that helps you acquire it. Standing around, listening to people, watching telly, listening to the announcements at the local GUM (Gorodski Univeralniy Magazin – Town universal shop). Yep, telly watching is study, ma. I’ve found a couple of programmes that I like, aside from the News channel. One is Intuition, where contestants try and guess the occupation or special behaviour of each of 12 people from a list, with the possibility of winning up 1 000 000RR. The other is Наша Russia (Nasha Russia – it rhymes), a comedy show that takes the mickey out of several Russian stereotypes mercilessly. If my Russian was better, I might be rolling on the floor wetting myself, as opposed to just laughing out loud.
And study is talking to people, chatting with the locals, not being scared to make a mistake with one of the harder Indo-European languages. If you thought French was hard, with only two genders and some silent letters, suck it up and keep shovelling the manure. In the classroom, I have time to compose short conversations – there are five of us and so I’m only going to be called on 20% of the time. On the street, in the train, wherever, suddenly I’m Johnny on the spot and have to remember the correct endings, stress, pronunciation. And for some strange reason I like it.
Next: Moscow – The Big M

The Man Shortage

One of the things that becomes rapidly apparent is that young Russian ladies tend to dress for the hunt. This is because there is a shortage of men in Russia: the competition for possible mates is intense. Conversely, even gorillas can get a date. This doesn’t mean the girls have lowered their standards: you still have to behave like a gentleman. And the girls expect it. So if the lads haven’t learnt by their mid-teens that they should hold the door open, pay for everything, give flowers and so forth, they’re either thick or completely uncouth.
For their part, the girls try to look their best. Short skirts and high heels are the uniform in warm weather (anything above 0C). There’s also a fair amount of cleavage on display. As one of the US students said, “Welcome to Russia, land of legs and tits.” The short skirts are self explanatory. The high heels are worn for two reasons; firstly, they accentuate the shape and length of the legs. Secondly, most Russian young ladies are midgets: the average height is about 5’, in the heels.
Not that they are all short, or all wear heels. Only 90% of the girlies wear heels, the rest are in sneakers of some sort. Even the tall girls wear heels, but not as often. Meeting tall girls is a bit of a surprise: midget, midget, midget, midget, basketball player, midget. And the tall ones loom over me by quite a bit. Mind you, if Russian women are short, so are Russian men. While I’m not tall, being of average height for a Kiwi, I’m about 5cm over the Russian average for guys. This means I have a better chance of seeing things in a crowd.
Russian girls also use mirrors. Constantly. They are forever checking their hair, make-up, clothes. Deprive them of a mirror (or a cosmetic pack) and they are either completely helpless, or forced into displacement activity. One of the foreign students here said she saw a lass in Moscow applying lip gloss and making sure it was perfect for 5 minutes. Mind you, Moscow is somewhat different. More on the Big M in another post.
The other thing about the girls (and Russians in general), there seems to be a weight limit. There are very few really fat people in Russia. It’s as though there is a sign at the border: Welcome to Russia, fat bastards need not apply. Indeed, the biggest girl I know here is a German, and she’s not huge neither.
For their part, Russian men are expected (and do) open the door, pay for the meal, give flowers, chocolates, at so on. Women’s liberation may have arrived here, but the girls are treated as ladies. Or else the gorilla gets dumped. One of the American lasses studying here commented on her Facebook page about the charming manners of Russian males, and her wish that American men should copy this. Started a bit of a slagging match.
For my part, I try and behave like a gentleman, help the neighbours, etc... So far I’ve had to buy a chance acquaintance early dinner and got a free dinner (and 3 hours of conversation practice) out of one of the neighbours. So it balances out.
Next post: Study!!

Bureaucracy or Bust!

Galina bustled around, not worrying that it was almost midnight. She was in a dressing gown and God knows what else. She explained how to use the shower, in Russian, and insisted I swap my shoes for slippers. Sensible idea, as it saves the floor from mud, dirt and slush if it’s been snowing. Not that it was, or had been for at least six months. The number of seemingly intelligent people who assume that Russia has one season, deepest winter, amaze me. It was still +20C. I fell asleep then lay down. On a bed.
I woke to a cooked breakfast, all part of the board I was paying, and Galina tried to fatten me up for winter. But before that I took a shower. Part of me was still asleep because I could only get cold water, even though the gas was lit. Yep, there should have been an inferno inches from my body. But there wasn’t. It was going to be a long 15 weeks if I couldn’t figure out the shower. She then walked me to the main road, via a short cut, decided the wind was a bit nippy (it was 15C and threatening rain) and I headed up to the Kazan State University or KGU. I live in the centre of Kazan, and am only 10-15 minutes’ walk from the University. It’s on the top of a small hill (this is European Russia, all hills are small) not far from the Kazan Kremlin.
First port of call was the International Office, where they would process us, give us the necessary I.D.s and so on. But before I could get there, I had to negotiate my way past the security guard. Simplicity itself: get a pass from the office over there. So I joined the queue and waited. The queue moved quickly; give your name and person you want to see and they write it out. I saved a lot of time by showing the passport and the letter of introduction. Voom, and I was in.
Found the right office and then the confusion and bureaucracy began. First, they needed to know who we, the foreigners, were. So hand over the passport, and some photos of myself I brought with me. Only the photos are no good. KGU want them in black and white, and mine are in colour. By now, there is a small horde of us foreigners in the office, dealing with each other in a combination of English, Russian, and German. We were all in same boat, so one of the office ladies led us to a nearby photographer, who did the business for 90RR/person. Then back to the office to start more paperwork.
It was going to take a while for our various documents to be made, so once we were all admitted, the day was ours. It was now 11am. So one of my new friends and I went in search of culture and art. We stuck our heads in the Kremlin, walked the pedestrian mall, and had a light lunch in one of the cafes. Then back to KGU to collect our paperwork. Once again, we had to get a hall pass, which I was ready for, and got to the front of the queue. One of my cohort was a young Swede, and was rather impressed by the fact I knew the drill. He’d somehow managed to by-pass security and had wandered the halls of KGU looking for the International Office for hours before he’d finally found it. Which wasn’t ready. Well, mine wasn’t. I had to come back the next day. So I strolled around the town with my new Swedish friend, popped into the local mall, The Kol’tso (Ring) and do some window shopping. Not a bad little mall; naturally, over half the shops are fashion related. There is a supermarket and a bookshop too. Bookshop is pretty good, and I decided I’d found a second home. No toy shops though.
Tuesday arrived, and I woke to another cooked breakfast. I could get used to this. I figured out how to use the water heater and had a hot shower, and strolled up to KGU in the drizzle. Where I once again queued for a hall pass, went to the International Office and collected my papers, which were know ready, and then off to the Languages department. Where we again waited while somebody consulted with somebody else and the rest sat around drinking tea. Eventually, they decided we should sit a test, which we did. They then had a look at the results, and said everybody come back tomorrow at 11 and we’ll sort out the groups. At least, that’s what I finally figured out. I was still hearing only sounds, not words, so was relying on a chap from Hawaii, via California, to translate for me. Then off to spend more money.
We hit the mobile phone company. Rumour had it Beeline was giving the best deal, so everybody headed there. I’d left my phone at home – why carry something that didn’t work? Offer money, produce passport and police registration and sooner or later you get a Russian SIM card, which was going in the phone the moment I got home. Oh yes, and a booklet on the benefits of Beeline, in Russian. It was raining, and I went home to play with my new SIM card. Which didn’t work.
Well, it did, but for some reason, my account said I had 0RR, when the deal was buy a SIM card and get 50RR opening balance. Off to Beeline to sort it out. Which they did – your phone is blocked, they said. Try and find a Nokia agent, or Vodaphone partner to unblock it. One customer suggested a rival company might be able to help. As they were just over the street, it sounded like a plan.
Into their office and explain the situation. “I bought the SIM card at Beeline, and my phone isn’t working. Can you help?” “You bought the card at Beeline not here?” “Yes, it seems to be blocked.” Repeat lines 2 & 3 until finished. Which took about 5 minutes. Finally, the young lady called my phone from an office line, and it rang. She hung up and called back from my phone. It worked. Amazing. Thank you, I said. Russia is wonderful and strange, but the people are great.
Next: The Man Shortage

Kaliningrad

On my walks up and down the main street, I’d noticed how bad the footpath was. Potholes everywhere and the street looked like it wanted some maintenance too. I hoped this wasn’t indicative of Russia in general. After cashing a cheque, I went in search of food, and found it in the nearby mall, conveniently opposite the hotel. I ordered by pointing and holding up fingers. Actually, I first tried my Russian, but my accent and memory were rubbish. I ended up with something cheap and tasty. And something caffeinated to drink.
I felt comfortable in Kaliningrad, but the weather decided it was time for a change. For the first time in my trip, it rained. Not on the first day in Russia, but the next, after I had rested, found some food for breakfast and started on a tour of the historic city. Koenigsburg used to be the capital of Prussia, then East Prussia and is a city ripe for historic tours. Unfortunately, when the Russians were chasing the Third Reich back to Berlin, Hitler decided that every major city became a fortress, and Koenigsburg had to be taken by storm after a bit of a siege. The result was a developer’s dream.
Stalin decided that redevelopment would take a certain form: the Germans would move out and the Russians move in. End of story. A few major landmarks survived the ravages of war. Immanuel Kant’s church is intact and quite pretty, as are several of the old gates from when K’burg was a fortress city at the end of the 19th century. There is still one gate from the time of Frederick the Great, but it is rather tatty. All the old gates are made of brick, and artillery is not brick-friendly. One is now a museum dedicated to the history of the (now demolished) fortress and gates. Some of the gates have had quite a chequered history, serving as warehouses, workshops, and so forth.
The Communist regime decided that K’burg would suffer for being a “fascist city”, and restorative maintenance was kept to a minimum. Consequently, a number of interesting landmarks are in appalling condition. The former palace of the elector of Brandenburg is an archaeological dig. It was almost completely destroyed. The regional government, freed from shackles of doctrinal thought, is hoping to reconstruct it, but don’t hold your breath. Kaliningrad is now an enterprise zone, so there are plenty of Euros and dollars floating around, but most of these are going toward infrastructure development.
Actually, this is the second time East Prussia has been under Russian rule. First time was during the Seven Year War, when Frederick the Great decided to snatch Silesia from Austria. While he was able to keep the Austrians at arm’s length, the Russians prodded buttock, and were camped in Berlin for several years. They would have won the war if Tsarina Elizabeth hadn’t died and been followed by the idiot, Peter III. Peter gave back everything in a vain and useless bid to reclaim some of his patrimony, Holstein.
East Prussia was and still is a source of amber. It financed the Teutonic knights. That and tourism: go to Prussia, beat up a few pagans, spend up large and have your sins remitted. Medieval tourism at its finest. There is a thriving amber market here, as well as an amber museum. As it was raining when I was taking my excursion, I declined to get thoroughly soaked and missed it.
Watched a few hours of telly in the hope of recovering some language, but no joy. Sunday, 31 August, I had to be at the airport. This was either going to be an expensive taxi or take the bus. I found a taxi outside the hotel (surprise, surprise) and spent 100RR getting to the bus station about 2km away. Bought a ticket for the 20km bus ride: 30RR. Had a bit of a wait at the airport, as I prefer to arrive early rather than try and make an undignified run for the gate after panicking at check-in. Everything went smoothly.
Flew Aeroflot Nord to Moscow Sheremetyevo on a Boeing. A fortnight later, they parked one into the railway tracks near Perm and 88 people died. Then waited about 5 days for my connecting flight to Kazan (or Казань in Russian). I knew there had to be a better combination of flights, but the travel agent hadn’t been able to find them. So I was due to arrive in Kazan at 10pm. Later found out there is a direct flight that takes about 3-4 hours. Flew in my first Tupolov, a Tu-154, operated by Tatarstan Airlines. They made the effort to be friendlier than Aeroflot. And in-flight announcements were in three languages: Russian, Tatar, and English.
Arrived earlier than advertised, and then had a short wait while my bag, which was slowly shedding handles, to arrive. Met the taxi driver, who spoke acceptable English, and was soon whisked into Kazan. Arrived at my home for the next 15 weeks and met my host family, a pensioner called Galina. It was still before midnight, I was knackered, and now I was in Russia, miles from any border. Tomorrow, I started learning Russian for real. Gulp.
Next: Bureaucracy or Bust!

Free Travel

Having spent a wonderful few days in my new favourite city, it was time to head for Kaliningrad in Russia. Getting to Frederic Chopin International (Warsaw) airport is possible by public transport. It was a short walk to the tram-stop. Climbing several flights of steps, while carrying a heavy suitcase was another thing entirely. I’m positive I didn’t put bricks in it. Having looked at the timetable and route guide, and watched a possible ride disappear into central Warsaw, I waited for my tram. The electronic info board told me I had about 10minutes to wait. It arrived early. I struggled my way onto the almost empty tram, found a seat, balanced the suitcase on its end and rode the 2km to the bus stop. Nobody asked me for money. I was ready and willing to pay.
I departed the tram, and hunted for my bus stop. My map said I need either a #175 or a #188 bus. It took a moment to find the right stop, as there were several nearby, but the confusion was soon resolved. I joined a crowd of Varsovians and we all piled into the #175 that quickly arrived. Fr much of the bus ride, I had to stand and keep an eye on the suitcase. Not that anyone was trying to steal it, but it had a nasty tendency of attacking small children, dogs, and anything else smaller than itself. Once again, nobody asked for money.
I found out later, talking to fellow students, I should have bought a city travel pass at one of the many kiosks dotted around Warsaw. Oh well, it was a few zloty saved. The only payment I made was when the suitcase, in a fit of pique, decided to attack my leg when I got off the bus at the airport. I gave it a sound thrashing, which kept it quiet for the rest of the day’s travels.
Check-in was a breeze. I passed through border control and into the international concourse – the expensive part of any airport. With several hours to kill, I did some Sudoku’s and had a hot chocolate with chilli. Definitely different from the normal airport fare. Tasty, spicy, and thoroughly refreshing. The flight to Kaliningrad (or Koenigsberg as it was when East Prussia existed and was part of Germany) was uneventful. I had a window seat with a wonderful view of the wing. I sat beside a young Russian chap, and though we didn’t say much, seemed to understand each other.
Getting into Russia went smoothly: show the passport, grunt, and thank the Border Guard when he’s finished inspecting the visa. Apparently mine is of the old variety. Maybe they don’t get many Kiwis going to Russia, and the Russian Embassy got a hundred year’s supply. My bag arrived promptly, and I walked out of the airport to look for a bus. Or a train. Or some form of public transport. And a bank to change my zlotys to roubles. Nothing in sight. There was my seat mate loading his bags into a Lexus.
“Would you like a ride into town?” he asks in good English, once he finds out where I’m going. Love one. So I score a free ride into Kaliningrad. I even get dropped at hotel in the middle of town. Saved me a 20km walk. The bus does go to the airport, but cycles between the arrival and departure terminals and town every half hour. In Kazan, I met Henryk from Sweden, who had to pay the taxi 200RR to get from the arrival to the departure terminal, a distance of 2km.
Negotiating a room at the Kaliningrad Hotel (there is more than one hotel in Kaliningrad, but I was in the one of that ilk) was a strong test of my Russian. Most people were paying cash. I wanted to be difficult and pay with a credit card. So I had to wait. The wait was all of 10 minutes. I filled in a form, handed over my passport, which they kept and got a key. I found myself on the second floor, with a nice room and a very handy toilet. I then went to change some money.
The hotel had its own Bureau de Change (or Обмен Валюты (Obmen Valyuti) in Russian). This is because Kaliningrad, having been more or less ignored under Soviet rule, is now an investment zone and attracts a number of foreign businessmen. But they don’t cash traveller’s cheques. For that I needed to find Cberbank. The hunt was on. I tried in the shopping mall opposite. Nope. They had a branch, but it was only tiny, and only handed customer enquiries. Try down the street. I walk down the street a distance. No sign of Cberbank. I try on the other side of the road, heading back to the hotel. Not there either. So I try another bank. “Go to Cberbank! It’s that way! Idiot foreigner.”
Finally I find Cberbank, and the right window, and then go through the usual long-winded process of changing traveller’s cheques into spendable currency. Of course, they want to see the passport. I had planned ahead and stole it back from hotel reception before this excursion into deepest Kaliningrad. They were used to TC’s here and it took about 5 minutes to get a decent wedge of roubles. Dinner beckoned.
Next time: Historic Kaliningrad: Some repairs needed.