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.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
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?
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?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
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?
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?
Saturday, November 22, 2008
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!
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!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, November 3, 2008
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
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
Saturday, November 1, 2008
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.
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.
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