27.11.08

its been a week, i havent blogged anything. theres not much point in writing down every detail of my life. ive gotten over that initial terror that makes me have to record every event as though by writing it down, it hasnt overcome me orsomething as gay. so from now on we shall just focus on important things. hopefully i will continue to write something every day as i want to be in the habit, and also, because its an inclination that helps anchor me into who i amor at least who i want to be. so to begin with, last weekend Magda and I did not go to a club. I went back to her flat, and after some discussion with her flat-mate Anastasia- as i napped, they decided this weekend would be better. insteadwe stayed up until about half twelve drinking green tea and talking. Anastasia is a beautiful girl- in that gentle dignified way, she is softly spoken and very welcoming, with excellent english. She is petite with fine gerbilish bones and gleaming hazel hair, apart from her clear skin and littleness her beauty is 'realised' (as the russians like to say) in this quiet modest demeanor. there is nothing garish about her.
in some ways i am jealous that Magda gets to live with a flat-mate,her apartment is far bigger then Sveta's and because of their similiar ages (Magda is a misleading 26, Anastasia is 21 or 22) the arrangement isnt awkward at all. Magda seems really happy that Anastasia choseto host her because of their 'similar interests' rather then any financial bonus. Magda spent a year or something in France, she can speak French- which Anastasia is learning becasue she met her parisian boyfriend at an EVS work camp. Anastasia's father arrived to sit with us, i think he was checking up on Magda who moved in the night before, he brought cookies, muffins and chocolate which made me go 'awwwwww' inside. Although I explained earlier about how much i hate Russian men, i only hate them in multitudes, alone and vulnerable they are actually really amusing.

especially when they are middle aged, with girth. like the man i was squished up beside today on the way home, who smiled as i silently laughed at how ridiculously packed the bus was, how i was being pushed further and further away from the entrance and would probably never be able to get off- and catching my eye made some probably witty comment in Russian. Her father had brown hair, a jovial Russian belly, a waxed moustache and big red cheeks. He shyly ate awayat the sweets and attempted to communicate in rusty english, i think very nervous. but it was sweet that he tried. after about thirty minutes of conversation, which Anastasia translated, including the economy crisis, urban versus countrylife and some reflection on an apparently famous Polish author, that should have got the nobel award, he left. whispering to Anastasia at the door, out of sight, that she was very lucky to have met us. i slept over, and in the morning we went to the first day of our on-arrival training. this entire week has been on arrival training. Practical games, roleplays and theortical seminars on socialization, team building, public relations skills etc.which has been actually quite interesting. our trainer, Natalja- who hates to be mistaken for Natasha- which she later explained is because of it's association with a famous russian Prostitute, or the amount of russian Natashas thatholiday in Turkey for sex, is another one of those remarkable people i have been so lucky to meet. She is a very charismatic woman, but not charismatic in that flippant way, but because she is just very intelligent. To be honest, me and Magdakind of joked about her appearance, but only because she tends to wear t-shirts that are too short, and lets her belly protrude freely over the rim of her trousers, completely unaware or at least unabashed. Apart from that andwhat is maybe unkept hair i think she carries the authority of beauty that doesnt wither with age and is all the more potent becasue her vivacious eyes are always animated. she is a pyschologist who works for Sfera (my hosting organisation that we later learned is Russian for 'sphere'alluding to 'planet' as it is an NGO that exists to promote and iniatiate volunteering, particularly on an international level) with a fluent efficiency of english, or at least ability to communicate. She used the word 'cool' alot, and didn't alienateherself because of age, participating in the boys' drinking rounds because she was 'strong' and could handle it. She is also very enthusiastic about polish sweets, and the three latest volunteers (for whom she repeated everything in russian)brought some souvenir sweets- which by the way, are so good! And when a volunteer insisted on prolonging discussions with his reflections on 'how not to be afraid' or the 'egyptian question'which he studied at university, she flashed her eyes at me in a subtle mirth and excused the fit of giggling i couldnt control- which of course, i apologized for later. group dynamics definately improved as the week continued, of course to beginwith we were all amiable in that polite cooperation, but after various roleplays, games and truth or dare at 2am in the morning- and some crazy dancing; Iskren's moonwalk,

i dont just 'like' Gwen the wandering cyncial frenchwoman with a hoarse throaty accent- that pronounces my name 'Ra-chelle' and has been to every country in Asia barr 2, or Artur the undecided polish professor for whom 'philosophy is a lifestyle' t

hat smokes like a chimney, smiles mischievously, and teased me with temptation as the manifestation of 'narcotika' and then chided me as my conscience- in Russian, during our drama exercise, or Iskren and Magda. They have even achieved that status where, even if i dont like them, i still do. we evenvisited a matrioshka factory, which was interesting enough.

The other three volunteers where really nice, its a shame that our interection was limited to 'kak de la?' 'hiroshaw spaseba', 'prejatna poznakormetza' etc. but they, along with Kasia, Artur, Magda and the polish association have definately left me with the impression that i would like to visit Poland one day.
for me however, the best thing about the training was our three day escape from the city. we drove for two hours, past little settlements of wooden 'dachas' -like huts, that are supposedly very cosy, and a gradually whiter and whiter landscape, into a forest. it was like finally catching my breath.

i hate the city, and in that space, away from the confines of a tiny apartment with a lovely family, the never ending bustle and stares of the street, where there is a sky that you can see and seems so much closer, i just felt better. on the first night we watched some russian comedy from the eighties, a parody of Russian folklore that was acually a really good insight into the russian ideal. Russians are farming village people, the videos i watched in my childhood are pictures of russia, the picture of a braided goosegirl in greenforests where bears roam and mushrooms grow, where it snows in the winter and families crowd together around a modest fire, where there are ballerinas and orphans, is actually Russia. and the books i read, about 'hard' life, and leagues of immense wood, landscape and land to transverse, is actually russia. but to be honest, i hate what its becoming. that saturday night i had also stayed over at Magda and Anastasia's, and she invited us to her friends party in the suburbs.
after taking a busfor about thirty minutes, until we reached the 'suburbs' which is still more over crowded then anywhere in Belfast, i got in a car for the first time in the weeks that i have been here. her friend Masha picked us up in her black land rover and drove us to her house- the first house i have also been in since i arrived. i hate to use that word again, but it was beautiful. her parents built it so it is very new, and what must be very expensive- with marble floors and a spiral staircase.i think her family are the 'new money' everyone raves bitterly about, and although the house itself wouldnt be much bigger then my own, in Russia its price tag definately is. stepping into that house was like stepping into a new dimension. her friends are the new generation, that smell good, are glamourous and play loud obnoxious music. Masha had orchestrated the entire party (of about twelve people) in order to ensnare 'her love' who she raved about, and guaranteed that i would notice when he arrived- eventually, after some hesitation on his part, Luif arrived- and she contracting in excitement everytime he turned away, introduced me to this 'muscian' barely my height, completely unintriguing.
what was intriguing, was firstly Luba, a 21 year old that went on and on and on about America, she spent four months there on a work and travel programme, and now speaks with a very americanised accent that she is self confessedly proud of (everyone at the party attend the linguistic faculty so speak fluent english) and was even wearing a white t-shirt she had printed "Obama"on. After a few drinks she expressed loudly how much she loves Obama; he's such a good orator and has a sexy smile, and her general enthusiasm for democracy. Of course she wants to get out of Russia asap, because she hates it here, and firmly believes that freedom of speech is a facade- she even knows a student that was expelled or suspended because she expressed controversial ideas during her journalism studies. And then there was Anton, Luba's best friend who accompanied her to America, and also wants to leave Russia. 'metrosexual' everyone warned us before he arrived- and yes, probably quite effeminate. we talked about the social standards for his generation, and with a snort of disgust or else wry acceptance he pointed at his clothes and told us that brands are all that are acceptable if you are a russian, which cost your arm and leg. In russia what you wear is how successful you are he told us. he works as an editor in a fashion magazine, and is therefore prevented from writing about politics or anything with substance; but doesnt care as long as it pays. this also means though, that he is on a perpetual diet and that the mini-skirt, v-neck, big boot wearing, wannabe model russian women dont impress him because he 'knows' fashion. he also works as a PR manager and hates how much he has to smile. Anton is intelligent enough to know that the superficiality of his clique is degrading, and 'intelligent' enough to realise he has to accept it to survive. although it would be easy to disdain these youths as desperate spectres of american capitalism, who would willingly even eagerly trade their own heritage for flashing lights, as i may have concluded earlier... who can blame them? how can i turn up my nose at people who want more then tiny apartments, and the constant unpredictableness of their existence, a life of 'survival'?

me and Magda whispered together in the front room very tempted to just get completely drunk because we were so intimidated, but in the end- these kids were as open and welcoming, if not more so, then anyone back home. There was also Sebastian, perhaps the least presumptious looking party member with a mop of brown hair, the only one my age, who is a DJ at a local club and lives in a 'bedsit' that he hates.
but every forty minutes i would sneak to the bathroom for as long as would be normal for someone to need to pee, and missed Sveta and Sirosha, and dare i say it, home. Im perfectly fine here, daily things are more familiar, i dont stand to be humiliated by the stares anymore... but i dont love anyone. i dont understand people. i mean it in more then a cultural barrier way, i mean it spiritually. most of my friends at home arent christians anymore, but at least my very close ones are or were, and they see beyond the flashing lights, or get lost with me in them. of course volunteers want to help people, and to escape whatever fishbowl of mentality it is at home, but the things they are escaping from or searching for are things i cant even comprehend because they are so much older then me, or look from a completely different perspective. to be honest, i tend to find myself the group leader, i suggest my opinion or the antics, i turn off the lights and turn up the music, i propose the event, i drag them to run around the building in the middle of the night, but it is wearisome. during the training, me magda and gwen stayed up til 2am talking. the conversation turned to 'greatest fear' etc. and for a moment i had to double check, as a participant in this emotionally loaded discussion amongst two restless mid/late twenty year olds from Poland and France- offering advice and suppourt! of course life takes its toll, maybe they are just more weary then me, and i in my youth more enthusiastic then them, but to hear that someone has travelled the world running from a problem is not glorious or awe-inspiring or romantic, its just sad. and almost infuriating. it makes me miss having someone to love. someone to admire and see the endless potential in, and therefore be lost with, without losing self respect. it makes me realise how dearly i love where i come from, and who i come from; my friends and family, and i know most of it is cultural indoctrination; but i wouldnt want to be from anywhere other then northern ireland. where nature lies down to sleep with us, and the sand is so cold and wet. Russians are like dwarves, they are fierce and weathered and brawny; they would smoke pipes and have mushroom hats and live in caves, but irish people are like elves. with fiddles and jigs and laughter, and as i am not completely deluded- pettiness. amongst europeans, russians and even the english i tend to notice how much i laugh compared to everyone else, i dont think this is a character trait, i think this is a bangor trait. i think this is a glenlola trait.
And next time i embark on an 'adventure' (although that word makes me want to be sick, as adventure isnt something you go looking for!) i am going to bring someone i love with me, because its true that life is about people, and without someone to share it with- it might as well have never happened. its reduced to lonely folly. we make music to dance to together, we write books for others to read, we paint pictures to be seen, we invite others to heaven. life isnt a secret and i think this is my lesson (among others). so anyone who wants to can read this. And if you are my friend and want to go to Siberia or Alaska you must tell me, as although i would like to go with someone, i am not scared of being alone, and this isnt to say i cant make friends where i am.
im apprehensive of writing these things firstly because they are terribly sickening humiliatingly sentimental, secondly because i dont want to name the monster. i know though that i wouldnt want to be anywhere else, and there are momentsof assurance, when goosebumps prick my skin in recognition of that timeless creature, completely possessing one moment in time so that it can hardly bare to contain it- and seems to stretch out into eternity, such as tonight, as i walked home from the bus. usually it is so dark i cannot see where i am going, and last night i stepped into a huge puddle; but the winter snow has started, everything is white, and under the streetlights the park opposite where i live glimmered in the dark, the entire road sparkled in this bright mistiness that seems to rejuvenate everything, children were laughing and playing as two old men strolled around talking with their ridiculously adorable fur hats, and i smiled. im not going to be scared of being homesick, because if you look hard enough it is wonderful here, instead it will be what will drive me when i want to give up, that one day soon, im going home.

p.s. what did whoever wrote Siberian Barber think he was going to achieve by condemning unsuspecting young girls such as myself (who didnt even want to watch the film!) to all the soul draining elements of that qualifying, heart aching response to what is in fact, a great tragedy (minus the cliche emotional scars of the herorine).

20.11.08

went to my class this morning -_- and to be honest, im beginning to lose interest... ive never really been an avid fan of language, in fact, im half chinese and cant even speak cantonese! i suppose though that learning is about perserverence, and my lack of moitivation may be due to discouragement...but seriously man! russian words change according to their freaking location in a sentence. there's not even a set word for me, but it changes according to thecontext so that for example just to say 'my age' you have to say something that is basically the equivalent of 'the years moving toward me', and then that 'my' will change again when you say 'minya zavot' or my name is, becoming'the name belonging to me'. so you have two different words for 'toward me' and 'belonging to me', rather then just my, and then probably a whole bunch of other mes that i havent even been taught. i mean comeon! for every englishword, the russian will have about another five syllables. just to say 'cold' you have to wrap your tongue around this three syllabled 'hol-den-ya'. and sometimes you look at russian text, and just see these neverending words, thatyour mouth was just not created to pronounce. eg the ever elusive 'bl' that suonds like 'eugh'- which you make by saying E and then pushing your jaw forward, supposedly. i had a hard enough time just learning to say 'squirrel'! i am not so bitter really, when i look blankly at russians now, im not so ashamed. i dont understand but that doesnt make me stupid or some sort of lesser alien. heck, the music they listen to is english, there is an Accessorise here- and well, they cant have their cake and eat it! or seeing as i have always found that saying completely illogical (what else are you meant to do with cake?!) if they want the cake, they are going to have to eat it! they cant justpick off the cherry or icing, they gotta scoff the entire thing- including that muttering foreigner who wants to exchange the ugliest pair of high heels she bought in a fit of desperation. because finally, after my lesson with Sergei,i bought some clothes. well by clothes i mean a jumper dress and pair of heels, as hopefully tomorrow we are going to sample the Russian night life. i also got a jigsaw puzzle of a sunken ship, to do with Sirosha, which after hours offiddling with tiny pieces, i realised might be a bit too advanced- for both of us. 2000 pieces! flip sake! eventually we gave up, after i pointed out 'tomorrow night' in the slovaird (dictionary) and we sat down to watch Sinbad and theSeven Seas on my laptop. Sirosha is such a wonderful child, he is so unbelievably happy despite spending literally hours alone, cooped up in this four roomed apartment. with nothing for company but the computer, an odd friend he might invite home, and Muzik. Now, Sirosha's relationship with Muzik is a bit odd. He obviously loves the cat, he wont give it peace- but he loves it with the rough affection of a 12 year old boy. he torments the cat, he willplay fight it, drag it around the flat, toss it around; he has scratches all up his arm from their tumbling. It's good that someone pays attention to the cat, i dont think its allowed to leave the flat, one day, when someone leftthe front door open for a couple of minutes, i watched Muzik paw at the air as though expecting some sort of boundary to be there- even with the theshhold wide open before him, the cat didnt leave. he/she seemed confused, andjust couldnt comprehend the idea of leaving. I think it's a perfectly healthy cat, its fur is glossy and he is very sleek, and thanks to Sirosha, active, and besides outside is getting so cold i doubt he/she would want to be there anyway, butit was a bit sad to be honest. and sometimes i wonder if Sirosha has traumatised him/her, if he/she just succombs to the antics because he/she literally cant escape. But Muzik seems affectionate enough with both Sveta and Sirosha,so perhaps it doesnt mind at all.it snowed most of today, and settled on the ground. my teacher explained that because of an anti-cyclone or some technical weather term, the skies are always blue and clear in the winter. so the landscape completely transforms, i think this grey autumny season is the least enjoyable, for everyone. with a good coat apparently the winter is pretty comfortable, central heating seems as natural as lights here. tomorrow i finally have my on-arrival training, three days in the city, and then four in a village somewhere, in the countryside! yay! where it will probably be like a snowglobe, withsugar frosting everything. we're also going to visit a nationally famous matroishka factory! and three polish volunteers arrived yesterday, they dont speak english and they will be living in the village, so i wont get to see much of them;although they will be at my training. with Myself, Magda, Artur, Gwen and Martina. i'm beginning to really like polish people. And hopefully tomorrow night...partay!

19.11.08

after what was maybe an awkward lesson with Sergei this morning (i think his lover was there. unless he isn't gay) i met Andrea at SFERA and we went to Piano Theatre; our project; Andrea has been working there for two months. we took two buses as Piano Theatre is located outside the centre, and what a relief! to finally escape the bustle and looming buildings! before changing buses Andrea and I even went for a three minute walk into a nearby park, obviouslyby now most of the trees have shed their leaves, and the grass has all withered, and when we stopped to look out over Nizhny Novgorod from the top of this hill litter pimpled its face. but still, it was rejuvenating.and there were trees literally everywhere; these stark observing naked white trunks that spiralled upward in such a lazy grace, without slouching branches or thick barkish growths. the trees, as dense in number as the nizhny inhabitants, were all packedclosely, and yet retained a dignity of space. they all seemed to be watchful individuals preserving their room. trees here are so different from the ones at home. they seem less domestic, they aren't as decorative or something. perhaps because in thisweather they cant grow in the same green lushness or spindly prettiness, they seem more weathered. more grim. more silent. more ancient, more part of a nature that hasnt been so easily trimmed and preened by man. daily its getting colder, and im beginning to understand more about the city becasue of it. i understand now why people pack so tightly and impatiently into buses, because no one wants to wait in the cold. i understand why people hurry in the streets and sprint in front of traffic, chased by the chill. in January it is expected to drop to -30 degrees. and despite the abominable buildings everywhere, and the cars and the manmade ugliness, nature is present in theoverpowering temperature. like the breath of God. and it is so awe inspiring. tonight on the bus home, i peeked out of the window, through a hole i made in the steamy glass, and for the second time today, glimpsing cosy lights on the horizon i caught the beauty of Nizhny. The first time was after my lesson, when i stood by the bridge overlooking the Volga. this huge river that at first appeared so drab and grey and lifeless, until the stillness of it occured to me. the silence of it, despite its immensity. like a motionless tongue. like a slumbering titan that can only be stirred by some force greater then this world. after Russia, the next destination on my list- to be fulfilled at any point in my life, probably aftera string of other exotic locations, and not in the near future, is Alaska. Ive wondered why i am so obsessed with the cold, when i am a sun worshipper, i think its something to do with the vastness of it. the leagues of emptinessthat extinguish everything. and im also so curious about the calling that led whatever ancient people the eskimos were to migrate into the polar regions. there is a french film, in my top five favourite movies ever, Le Grand Bleu- or The Big Blue, written by the absolute genius that is Jean Reno- which basically explores this diver's complete obsession with the ocean. well, rather then obsession, his vulnerability to its'call', the same vulnerability and fascination that must have inspired all these myths of mermaids etc. im not 'at one' with the ocean or anything, but to a degree i understand that tug. the almost transfixing lament of a bue dream that permeates through the water, making you sway in the tide; tempting you to dive under and never resurface, to climb deeper and deeper into the black. so surely there is some magic in the elements, some alluring promise that we continuallymigrate in search of, leading some peoples even to the top of the world. maybe i just unconsciously indoctrinated myself when i was a child, with White Fang and Frankenstein, but ive caught the whiff. the instinctive spiritual desire to be at one with something bigger then myself, that finally can be materialised, and isnt limited to scriptures or prayars or church sermons, because it surrounds us.anyway, finally i arrived at Piano Theatre! what is basically a dressing room and performance area in a school for deaf children. and before i go on to describe Piano, i need to relate one really quite surreal experience before i forget it. on the way back to sfera from our day's work, Andrea and I were standing at this bus stop. Now, the school is situated in what is basically a forest with a road through it, with a spar-ish thing about forty yards away that maybe leads tosome small hoky settlement, but apart from that, its in a relatively obscure location. a complete change of scenery from the heart of nizhny where i have spent most of my days so far. at the bus stop however, there were probably about fifteen people waiting. We stood talking, and suddenly i noticed that a group of four young teenagers were staring at us- making very animated expressions with their faces, so that it was quite obvious. Iasked Andrea if she knew them, she of course was too unsure to turn around, and suddenly in a flash, these kids started speaking with their hands. obviously i have seen sign language before, but never in such fluency, i havenever fully witnessed a complete conversation between deaf people. and far from being disabled they seemed to communicate with the same vivacity and variety that we use verbally. their motions were so quick, and precise, so naturalit just seemed like another language. four boys joined them, lounging on one another with the same bravado of any teenager. it was as though i was suddenly among what seemed for a moment like this whole new race of people, and surrounded by these mystical trees, like i had literally stepped through some portal. obviously i dont think they are a new breed of people, but i have never witnessed that type of development before. a whole new method of communication! it was startlingly fascinating, and i gasped! in the end Andrea realised that they knew her from Piano Theatre, which is why they had been gawking, and i think, maybe being quite mean about us! As for Piano Theatre? we were greeted by Vladimir, a charismatic and enthusiastic 'actor'. he is one of those people that is effortlessly disarming, and who's energy constantly flows outward, interacting with his environment, sharinghis thoughts. my first impression was that he spoke fluent english, although as the morning progressed i realised he did not, but his general ability to communicate over compensates. he seems perhaps a bit eccentric, but i know that he will be among the best people i will ever meet. he still seems so optimistic and generally just happy, despite Piano's constant struggle. They rely on sponsourship, andhave no idea what ups or downs tomorrow brings. gradually they have built a reputation, having toured Russia and some european countries- a documentary is going to be made about them, but 'bureaucrats' who will happily finance dance or acting, are not so convinced when it comes to pantomime. both him and his wife, Martina- who only speaks Russian and a bit of German, appeared haggard when i really looked at them. from fighting nail and toothfor what has not been a very financially rewarding dream. and what a humble dream! to help deaf children express themselves. we spent the day dusting and vacuming. Andrea has explaind that there can be very little to do, she is currently involved in trying to form Austrian contacts, and i am supposed to do the same for Britain. They have a dog called Pasha, a floppy eared cocker spaniel that is brown and white. and absolutely lovely. animals always save the day, they always break the ice, because like children, they are the same all over the world. and Vladimirshowed me the tricks he can do, which are properly astonishing! He has trained him to roll, bark, sit, walk between his legs, and do all these other things in a little routine! Vladimir is a truely talented! at around 2pm his sonarrived, a mid/late twenty year old that is very attractive and now involved in the buisness. in fact, it is a family buisness- their children have all been recruited, testifying to the sincerity and again talent of their parents!i think these people are going to be really special, and even if i only perceive from a distance, it will still have been a blessing to even just watch. and tonight when i got home, someone let fireworks off in the square outside my window. and now i am supposed to learn the russian numbers Sergei gave me for homework. but cannot be bothered

Привет

I'm slowly beginning to read Russian- pronouncing it of course, is another matter;

but here is my name!

РЗЙЧЕЛ

Why?

I just wanted to say, that writing everything is really for my own benefit, which is why these blogs are so long and detailed. and uninteresting! and about to get reallllly cheesy!

18.11.08

was invited by a russian girl, Natashja to her english class. she is nineteen and studying languages at university. she collected me at 11am from sfera, and we walked down to the 'linguistic and financial faculty'- which is this pale blue square building surrounded by a high iron gate, and strange statues- including one that has got giant knives and forks sticking out of it. i meant to take a photo, but walking out i was too scared, and almost tripped over in frontof this gang of teenagers, standing around smoking and generally being intimidating. inside we descended until i was pretty sure we were underground. the building was honestly quite old, different from modern facilities of british universities i have seen so far- which all seem alot more competitve about attracting students. it was warm at least. central heating in russia is amazing. the class was a small group of about eight, with one male member and a teacher that had a strangely distinguished english accent and took pains to ensure that her students spoke in perfect grammar- going so far as to hesitate when a girl began a sentence with 'if we were...'. the teacher was very friendly, we conversed easily for a good forty minutes, her students- all very shy, only beginning to ask me bland questions; what i thought of russia etc. when she pressed them, having run out of ideas herself. we spoke alot about Moscow, and wheter i should visit it. the teacher- who i later learned was called Elena, expressed similiar views to Sergei about Moscowites- 'in Russia we say there is Russia, and then there is Moscow'. obviously alot of wealth is centralised in the capital, although i did also discover that Nizhny Novgorod has been historically regarded as the third capital of Russia; 'it's wallet'. obviously i was asked alot about northern irish, irish and british culture; and spun my answers out as long as i could, and probably left them with the impression that allllll people eat in N. Ireland is potatoes... after an hour and fourty nine minutes i left, Elena directed me out, and asked if i would go to a language school she teaches at some evening as they are in 'desperate need of native english speakers'. of course i agreed, and she now has my number.
afterward i walked around the street sheepishly looking in clothes shops. i tried yesterday, but dressed in my tracksuit bottoms i couldnt stand the disgraced and disgusted looks of some of the women; who are literally always in kneehigh leather heeled boots. i lasted a bit longer today, but eventually gave up; finally dismayed by the reflection i caught in the only full length mirror i have seen since arriving. and went back up to sfera. where i spent the rest of the day doodling, on facebook or talking. tomorrow i will begin my project, as piano theatre are finally back in town. but, after watching an EVS propaganda video Magda showed me- as part of her research (as she is giving a presentation about EVS) as i wallowed in boredom and realised that in general alot of the volunteers dont have much to do, i began to wonder why i had really come to russia. to work? ... to be honest im not that interested in children. i do love them. the more time i spend with children, the more glad i am of them. being around Sirosha and Lorsha is always such a pleasure and even relief, because i have come to the conclusion that children around the world are all exactly the same- they have this universal language that isnt verbal or even communicative, its like a language of existence. but i kind of just see them as part of the scenery, as another wonder of creation that although i appreciate and even admire, i am not particuarly 'interested' in. i like the stars, i think space is unfathomable, but i do not devote my energy to becoming an astronaut. maybe its laziness, but likewise children are just there, they are just this inevitable part of life becasue they perpetuate it- they are the next generation etc etc. i love to be among them, but i didnt come to russia specifically to work with them. so did i come for experiences outside of my project? obviously yes, but how much can i experience of real russian life when i cant communicate with russians? At the weekend Sveta took me to like a back alley market, where most of the 'natives' obviously do their shopping; without her involvement i would have never seen it, and will probably spend a good deal of my six months immune to the 'real' russia- i will spend my money in shops most russians cant afford to shop in etc. but i suppose, what is the real russia? why should my experience of russia be any less genuine? but did i even really come to experience the 'real' russia? when i can be so deluded and idealistic? i know i didnt come to be a 'volunteer', and live in this surreal air bubble of suspended reality. did i come because God called me? obviously there was some wierd dream planted in my heart; an unshakeable 'perhaps' that i can only call curiousity. but i wonder why God would have me here? i cannot really find any reasons for why i would have me here, other then some superficial fascination with Dostoevsky that doesnt even correlate with my goals, because really i am very aware of where the literary sphere ends, and how much of an imposter it is when invited into reality. but am i looking for a scapegoat in saying that the reason i came was God? am i being irresponsible to say i was 'led'? is it just that my ideals have proven groundless thatnow i blame God? but what ideals did i really have?
what i'm saying, is that i dont know why i'm here. it isnt to work with children. it isnt to be the guest in a house of people i cant communicate with. it isnt to drink vodka with europeans i barely know enough to like. it isnt to sit in SFERA on the internet. and yet i wouldnt be anyhwere else. im here for a purpose. perhaps it will be my metamorphisis. everything seems so oddly still around me, as though nothing will move, as though i should be here and nowhere else. and i dont know where the strength is coming from. i dont know why im not completely overwhelmed, and how, when homesickness begins to whistle just under my perception, i can so easily draw away from it and resolve to be content. again there is only one answer, there is one word and one conclusion left. when i am silent and have nothing left to say, one idea still resounds from me. God. and i know that because of Him, these six months will go so quickly. Because his authority is time.
i got the bus home, and while waiting outside sfera for bus 64 (that takes absolutely ages to come) it started to snow. i love it when it snows in the dark. when little flakes of white float down from an unpenetrable black above, like a greeting from some secret place.and all the world, and even nizhny novgorod seems merrier. i cant wait for the snow, for some sign of the natural world in such a grey bleak festering city. i have even changed my laptop background to a picture of grass! and i will miss my beach until i am sick, and those long summer evenings and the fresh air and the wilderness of the sea. i have decided that i dont agree with cities. anyway, despite the uncomfortably dropping temperature, beside me, near the bin i had watcheda beggar hoke through for vodka yesterday, a boy was having an icecream! they love icecream here! and apparently its really cheap. when i got home, Lorsha and Sergei greeted me. They gave me a bunch of flowers they had picked! Lorsha seems particuarly interested in me, he came to stand in my room and gestured to the view in the window, exclaiming 'beautiful' and trying to make conversation in russian. i helped them with their english homework again, for which they continually apologized and kept repeating in the most adorable oblivion; 'thank you big!'
p.s. i should have brought The Simms!

16.11.08

feeling dirty and unwashed, we went to Mcdonalds at about ten! serhan left us getting on the bus to Hannes' dorms, where we went to his room for 'chi', and i suddenly got a little homesick, because it was clean and my friend has his bedsheets. he shares a dorm with another austrian, of which there has been this anti-climatic 'buzz' among the female volunteers. i then went with jehnya, whom i met last weekend at the party, to vineyard church. was pretty decent, sermon was very good; the pastor is one of those direct blunt americans that cracks dry jokes and doesnt accept excuses. met an american girl who was been here studying for a semester, and cant speak russian. i was also introduced to Almira, a very very fluent english speaking middle aged russian woman, who just provoked this huge outburst of warmth and relief in me. at this point, i was feeling oddly 'unedged'. she was genuine and forthright, speaking her thoughts which i love. she told me i was beautiful, and then asked for my phone number; she is going to contact me about events they organise for my age group; including a housegroup for international students. she is just one of those people i know i will be able to be honest with, because she is honest herself, she directly asked me about any problems i might have, and i kind of gulped and said if i do, they will probably come out soon. i barely know this woman but i thank the lord for her, i thank God for people that have innative enough to be forceful, and expect openness. i thank God for blunt people. and i really hope i can fit in with this church, and make christian friends. Jehnya is so good, he is so friendly, and introduced me to as many people as he could, and he is 'always happy', everyone loves him. after church i met up with Kasia, Sara, Marie-Ann, and Hannes at the tram station.
Leaving Hannes at the super market, we went to the International Day of Tolerance event hosted and organised by the Polish Association, of which Kasia is a recent member. What an interesting meeting. Firstly there was the russian chairman, a grandfatherly 50 year old with a camera, that kept taking photos of everything, and me in particular- even asking me to write down my name because i was 'his taste in a woman, although (his) wife is a blonde' which after the vodka shots got going, he reiterated three times. Then there was the vodka shots, glasses of wine and smartly dressed, suited up adults who had come to get drunk. Then there was this floppy haired spectacled professor, a brilliant man in his field apparently, but just quite crazy. When we first met him we wondered if he was drunk, he spoke very loudly cracked the strangest jokes, would ridiculously compromise your personal space, stood with the oddest off balance poise and flirted with his three students. Then there was the three students, very intelligent eighteen year old girls with text book fluent english- using vocabulary i barely possess, who got drunk and started singing 'my heart will go on', 'the lemon tree' and 'i'm blue' and dragged Marie-Ann to the front of the room for a rendition of some french song. Then there was the singing, the warbling, and the lets hold hands and dance around the room in a merry circle. and then there was the accordian that appeared from nowhere. it was very interesting, and very polish. After our 'dasvadanyas' and last photos, it took about half an hour for them to finally let us leave. i got the bus 71 with Sara, Kasia and Marie Ann- who all got off at Polshad Lenina, my stop was the next one, but i missed it, and very aware that i was now hurtling into some unknown region of the city i sat and watched Nizhny Novgorod go by, in exhaustion. Eventually got off to cross the road and get a bus back to Moskowski Woksal. and now i am home, exhausted, going to hand wash my clothes in the morning and then meet Sergei for a russian lesson, and hopefully, another discussion. p.s. the state of my teeth and skin is a joke. i never feel clean. the water here is so crap, it goes straight through me -_- i'm always thirsty.

15.11.08

"Rhythm Is A Dancer..." came onto the radio on the bus this morning (spent the night with Marie-Ann and Kasia) i grinned all the way home. like an ejit.
In the evening we went to the ballet, sat beside this old matriachal woman, who kept staring and smiling at me. eventually saying something to which i replied, 'ya nye panemayu pas ruskee'. with a delighted flashing of her eyes she turned to a granddaughter? beside her to translate, asking with a genuine interest where i was from, what i was doing in russia, about my family; she seemed particularly interested in my family, and eventually told me i was very beautiful. it is so encouraging to meet these people, that embrace you and take you under your wing, like a sort of substitute fifteen minute grandmother that reinforces the natural structure of things, so you sit there suspended in this feeling of wellness; content of your place in the world. i was glad to be sitting beside her. and during the break, when gwen and kasia went to the toilets to smoke, our english conversation meant of course, a lot of attention; a twelve year old went so far as to approach us and ask were we where from and if we liked russia. the ballet seems to be a sort of social event here, it is so cheap that it seems to have just been absorbed into the environment. there is even a free coat-hanging system. of course the ballet itself was a feat of human art, but at one point i was watching a ballerina's shadow and noticed thatwithout the make up and colourful totos they are dancing skeletons. and to be honest, i found the music much more enthralling then the dance. there was too much frill and showmanship, a whole scene devoted to court amusements, but about two minutes to the actual good vs evil battle and meeting of sleeping beauty and her prince charming. it was skill rather then expression or communication. as much as i dont want to admit it, i got bored, and realised that even honing your body into a paintbrush of perfected grace is still chasing the wind. and boy you can see everything in those male leggings.
after the ballet, Magda, Kasia, Gwen and I went back to Gwen's aparment (Martina is in Kazan). we, joined by the bulgarian Iskren and eventually a swedish girl Sara, had a 'meeting' in the kitchen, where we basically sat on the floor munching dried fruit and chipsk, listening to Sara, Iskren and Gwen's 'funny sex stories'. Conversation always seems to rapidly disintegrate into 'but i'm crazy and special' -_- The more time i spend with Magda the more i like her. she is 24, very independant resourceful she never speaks superfluously asks direct relevent questions and carries this game dignity, always ready to have fun. on the matroshka to Gwens, we hung onto the ceiling racks together trying not to look at the russian men staring at us, or laugh. and her eyes glitter so merrilyand mischeiviously.
russian men are really beginning to appall me. probably for no reason. i keep catching myself muttering 'i hate russian men' under my breathe everytime i am in public places. but seriously, they are so spoilt and ignorant! you have these beautiful women flaunting themselves for the sake of lazy arrogant smelly men. we saw a couple walking the other day, this vodka swigging imbicile with his arm around another head to toe groomed (as they always are) girl. i know that this is such a generalisation, and to be honest i have met some really decent russian men, i was walked to the bus stop by another Sasha who made so much effort to communicate with me, and came into the room where i was sitting at SFERA to stand in front of me in an awkward but endearing 'privet', and everyone keeps talking about how respectfully they treat old women. my teacher and Sveta's son are both so nice. but in the street or on the bus they just seem to impose themselves on you, and are so overbearing. maybe im paranoid that they're all skinheads or in the mafia. maybe i just do innately hate men.
anyway, this austrian boy, from the first party, arrived later on with his friend, a south korean; Serhan. we played truth or dare and then hide and seek in the dark. at about three am we dispersed, i went with Sara to stay at hers, because her flatemates Geraldine and Kata are in Kazan, Magda went with Kasia, and Serhan and Hannes came with us. we stayed up talking for probably about an hour, the boys told me i had 'broken their ideas' of Northen Ireland, which they had associated with aggression and violence- i hadnt realised that 'the troubles' are so widely known, throughout europe and even the world. Serhan, who has been here for about six months so far, described how Russians can be very negative toward koreans, and Hannes told us he knew russians that had been beaten to a pulp by skin heads. they study at nizhny novgorod linguistic faculty, which apparently is the third best in russia.

14.11.08

Today after my lesson with Sergei- over the tea russians seem to enjoy finishing every meal or event with, (they dont seem to understand that i actually like to drink plain water!) we had another discussion. he is so full of knowledge. He explained that rural russia is practically non existent, and it is a change that has occured rapidly- in a matter of years. the other day he was copying casettes to dvds and stumbled across an old family video from the 90s and said that the way they dressed, the food they ate- was like something from another era, and was completely unrecognisable! and then he told me about a memory he had visiting his grandmother in her village, where it was a sort of nightly tradition for someone to stand guard, and ring a bell every hour. and then, eyes gleaming in what has been one of the greatest moments of my time so far, he explained that the beauty in russia is not like the glorious mountains or seas of Italy and the meditterainean, but in the vast plains and silence. in the lack of human presence, and that people who lived in such places had something very special in their characters. he spoke almost with a yearning, and my heart literally started aching for him, i know it sounds really stupid, but seriously, there is something so tragic in this nation; its sort of why i came. Sergei said he didnt understand why, with such a huge territory, russians pack themselves into these ugly buildings.i think its going to be as much a trial settling into city life, as into russia. i had thought that cities are places full of diversity, oppurtunity, life, noise, colour; everthing an eighteen year old is attracted to, and even though i still do, i also think that they are oppressive and confining. there is no space or freedom, even the sky seems more distant. and people stalk the streets with purpose and intent, noone danders or wanders about. Sergei's description of that freedom made my own heart pine, its like the ideal this increasingly westernised culture has forgotten, willingly; has sacrificed for bright lights and fast cars. i sat on the bus to sfera sickened by the noise and building sites everywhere, unreasonably angry at the russians around me, all wearing the same clothes and expressionless countenances. the other day i was in a cafe observing the screened music channel, and of course, it was the same unharmonic hybrid of sex and money that is taking over the world, infiltrating even Nizhny, despite all i had believed about the music of the russian soul. of course i do not begrudge Russia its economic development, which depends on globalism and of course will effect its culture.Sergei also explained that Russia was unique in that it incorporated as much of asia, as of europe. their concept of political power for example, is much more asian then european in that they will only accept a strong leader. they will never see democracy in the way we do, as they do not have the same heritage of 'urban culture' as we do in europe; historically the cities have not been independant. Political power has always been centralised in Moscow; Moscow has set a mandatory standard in everything, even language. which is why there are very few regional accents throughout Russia, despite its size.Also, apparently flats here are so expensive that generation after generation of a family can end up living in the same tiny apartment. Sergei told me that the buildings were built with the cheapest materials available sometime after the devestation of world war 2; or else by the Germans, as estates for defeated peoples or something; thats why alot of them dont even have showers! (Sergei's shower is a cubicle in his kitchen!) something like 20 million russians died during world war 2. Previously sasha had told me at the kremlin, beside a monument, that every single russian family lost someone to it. and of course the only mention russia gets during gcse history, is in something like the equivalent of a closing paragraph.And this is only the tip of the tip of the tip of the tip of the iceberg; Russia's history is tumultuous. i wonder why. Has it been cursed or blessed?p.s. you can't access youtube or google here! :O

13.11.09

today has been a lazy day, well, a 'recouperating' day. i can feel my body repairing, its gone completely lax and all i want is to sleep. i woke up at about quarter to nine when Sveta gestured for me to lock the door behind her, and then i had a big breakfast, and then went back to sleep until half twelve. i had the strangest dreams, dreams that i seemed to be revisiting; the situations seemed so familiar. in one, i was back in school and this boy who went to swimming club was infatuted with me. i skipped a class so we could rendezvous in a dark corridor, where he declared his burning love for me, and we kissed. i had been expecting the kiss to be earth shaking, as i was thoroughly- misty eyeod besotted with him, but what a disappointment! i felt nothing, and expectantly resigned myself to what i had secretly known, but refused to admit, that i was in love with someone else... and yet i glibly returned his profoundity of affection, and we held hands and skipped the rest of the school day. i had another dream- its very vague now, but involved somehow visiting my friends, and showing them how dry my skin and chapped my lips had become from the Russian cold- among us i am known for my skin.
i took a bath when i woke up, and hastily got dressed because Sergei had arrived home, with his friend, Lorsha. Lorsha was also so sweet! he came and stood in my room shyly, and sat on the sofa/bed and tried to converse with me. i showed him some photos, and he wanted to read some of one of my books to show me his english; i gave him two of the postcards i have brought from home. Sergei had been heating the leftover soup from last night, and called us for supper, and then he washed all his dishes and the pan! and then did his homework! so obediently and happily! school seems to end for them at half past one, and then Sergei has the rest of the day alone. i am glad to be around even so that he wont be alone until his mother arrives, which is usually between seven and eight. And he gave me a poster of Linkin Park! apart from that not a very eventful day, tomorrow there is still nothing planned. i have an english lesson with Gwen at 7pm because the rest of the volunteers planned ages ago to spend the weekend in another city Kazan. the remainder of us are going to see the Russian Ballet; Sleeping Beauty. there is a ballet on every weekend i think, and the tickets are so cheap; only 40 roubles which is less then a pound! tomorrow i will stay home again in the morning and then go to SFERA at three.

12.11.08

this morning in an answered prayar, Sveta accompanied me on bus 23 to Moskowski Woksal- i think it is as easy for her to get to work via Polshad Lenina; she usually has to get two buses anyway. However... i was supposed to remember the way toSergei's apartment, and once Sveta left- feeling relatively confident i successfully crossed the road, and after a little detour found my way to a very familiar looking square. and then diasaster. the apartment buildings here are all literallythe same, and i couldnt get in contact with him because his phone was switched off. and the worst thing about being lost is the humiliation of it, being that awkward helpless tourist who doesnt know where to stand in the street, its badenough in London- where hoardes of charging buisnessmen well literally stampede you, but at least they speak english, and Nizhny Novgorod hasnt even been open to foreigners until very recently; so they will stare not from rudeness, but utter bafflement. i have got someof the strangest looks since ive been here, obviously there is the intrigued not-so-subtle consideration the ridiculed haha look at that, the wolfish measuring some men seem to think they are entitled too because i am a foreigner', the offended 'what are you doing here', then there is this blatant 'question mark', and of course other less obvious looks- so muchthe worse because they are open to interpretation; like the babuschka who opened a door i was standing outside; who hurrumphed at my attemps for communication and just turned on her heel to leave- in some facist snub? and then there was this wierd man grinning wildly at me, who turned around when i walked past and took a few stumbled steps to follow me; as though i was funny! and then of course, the curious 'has she got social skills or not' a security guard watched me with as i wandered peeivshly through a nearby shopping centre, after fifty minutes looking lost. i was determined to buy a new jacket and bag, having finally given in to frustration that morning when on the machinka avtobuse my bulky hedgren backpack got stuck in the door as i squeezed on board. now i know what pickles feel like, squished together so tight thatyou are literally breathing in someones hair, that if the bus jolts forward you wont actually move. and yet the drivers never seem discouraged from letting more people on! they stop at every stop, collecting for every Russian that gets off, two more! until the doors barely open or shut, and someone has to clamber out and then back on- to make way for exiting passengers. the other volunteers had warned me of this, but man... clothes are expensive here! a stylish andpractical coat can cost up to 400 pounds! after finally telling the two sales persons who ambushed me, 'ne hacho' (i dont want it), i discovered a shop on the bottom floor selling if not cheap, cheaper coats. decent warm ones. i got one,and then bought a bag. and i am so excited about not looking so conspicuous on the bus! being able to move without the hindrance of a baggy jacket and backpack. but when i arrived home tonight, i have to admit that despite the price tag, i cut off these disgusting patent leather pockets. although the day had begun in failure, i made my way independantly back to Moskowski Woksal, where a text from Ksenia suggesting bus 26 from Ploshad Lenina would be simpler meant i was able to practice the route again. and revisit the random sign posts i have picked out. i successfully crossed the motorway without being run over (russian drivers are crazy, im not exaggerating) to the right bus stop, and got off the bus at Bolshaya Pokrovskaya (yes i do like writing and saying these words) and then went to SFERA. the rest of the day until 4.30pm is a haze of internet and Robin Hobb's 'Renegade's Magic'. Darina did give me my monthly 'pay' though, for food, travel and pocketmoney. At around five, a new fifteen year old Sveta and her best friend Susha arrived to meet me and Magda; they had told Darina they wanted to give us a tour of the city. they were such typical teenagers, experimenting with make up andleadership, greeting us with such bright eager eyes. Both spoke school English, in that they were able to converse in roleplay, what they had practised was excellent. both are fifteen, and just the same as girls at home, still so 'unsophisticated' and 'untogether', but desperately trying- and not even becasue they innately care, but because they should . we met two more of their friends, Tanya and Lisa, and at various 'historical' spots, all six of us would stop and listen to one of the friends read a description from a piece of paper. My knees were literally shaking in laughter at some ofthe discourse; when Magda asked what the taxis are like around here, and Sveta said it was very dangerous to get them, 'because sometimes the drivers are... murdered, yes murdered!' (sounding very scottish in her pronunciation). and i am afraid that i cant contain my laughter at some of these mispronounced words, i am always ashamed at being so rude, but it just makes it worse. its not that its funny that they cant say the words,whats funnyis the way they say them. you should hear Gwen, a 27 year old frenchwomen, pronouncing 'Spanish'. and all always so oblivious to it!At the Kremlin, Sveta pointed out that they are already preparing for New Year's, with this big wooden contraption (celebrations here seem to involve and ignite the whole city) by this time however it was dark, cold and very windy. all six of us were in that old trap where everyone wants to go home but noone wants to say it. it was very kind of them volunteering to take us out, i think it was as interesting for them, as for Magda and I. and so strange to see something that i was so similar to, and now so unconsciously apart from. I'm now that foreign eighteen year old. Tanya seemed to regard me with particular intensity, althoughher english was the least developed; or she was the least forthcoming, she suddenly addressed me with this direct and intended 'have you got a boyfriend?'. of course, after exchanging hugs and numbers, taking a few photos, and promising to invite them to the next volunteer party, i got the bus home. and was greeted by Sergei. he was painting the reindeer we made together, and after fussing with my bags the way i always do- unpacking and organising, i noticed that he was playing Linkin Park and showed him it onmy computer, and then the rest of my music. We put the songs he liked onto my Mp3 and transferred it to his computer, from which he was then able to give me some Russian music! which i have yet to sample. Sveta arrived home,we had supper; tomatoe and cucumber salad and soup with potatoe, fish and something else. Sveta has installed translation software onto her laptop, and was able to let me know that she had suggested to Darina that i stay until New Years (whenher and Sergei will leave the city)! it is such a blessing! i love these two people, they have been so generous and made it easier for me to be here. i will always remember their kindness. After supper we blew bubbles into the bath tub, and said 'pop' everytime one exploded, and then i asked Sergei to count them in English. and then we had pancakes Sveta baked, which Sergei translated on the laptop as 'my mum to go bake pancakes'- which looked so funny on the screen, under the serious discussion about money and plans for tomorrow morning. tomorrow morning my teacher is meeting his father, so i have the flat to myself. and i am wrecked! nothing sounds better then a bath, body lotion, russian music, nail varnish and contemplation! i am feeling so much happier recently, more calm. the skies have been so blue and tonight i noticed a big flashing green sign on the horizon, and it made me smile forsome reason... o the russians!

11.11.08

This morning i went to my first russian lesson. Sergei met me at Polshad Lenina and we went back to his apartment. The apartments here are another curiosity, in that these bleak dirty ramshackle buildings that loom menacingly overhead,all exactly the same, housing russian upon russian literally one on top of another, wherein a tiny creaky lift zooms up and down through the dark halls, can contain so many individual flourishing lives.seriously, you wouldnt expect the cheer of russian aparments- shoeboxed in such prehistoric buildings, or stdanjas. Sergei's apartment is very clean and bright, full of books on ancient history. He taught me the russian alphabet,well when i say taught, i mean showed me how to pronounce, and then watched me barely contain my frustration at being unable to roll my tongue or remember that in Russia an H is N, and an N is E, and an E is 'yeh'- dont evenget me started on the symbols for sh, ssh, ts, tsh, ju and ja. he is the bohemian ideal; intellectual without being presumptious, scared of the aggressive Moscow elite and wearied by its fashionable politics. he is sort of short, and his eyes flash when he speaks. he showed me an old satirical soviet cartoon and explained that the reason there are so many terrible traffic jams in NizhnyNovgorod is because recently russians have begun to acquire money, and are all buying cars, and that the roads have not been built to deal with so many. in general he explained that the rate of growth in russia far surpasses it'sability to deal with it, and when i wondered if the city was in shock, he explained that in fact people had been waiting for this change and growth for years, and that it wasnt a bad thing for many of them. he walked meto the bus stop, as he was getting a bus to school (he is a postgraduate student writing a thesis or something and earns money teaching 'rich children who make too many demands, which sometimes (he) cannot deal with because(he) is very emotional' (what a darling!)), my next hurdle will be getting to Polshad Lenina alone tomorrow; as Sveta showed me the way this morning. on the bus (to the city; i was planning to go to SFERA and hopefully meet other volunteers or spend my day on the internet) i met Darina luckily, so she was able to direct me off. at SFERA i met Hashaand Marie, who i then accompanied to a stationary shop and then cafe, for a crepe with jam and cherries. Marie left me and Hasha after lunch as she had to return to go to her project, i then accompanied Hasha around a couple of museums (as she works at them)doing some buisness; at the Kremlin this old babuschka (who i later learned was in fact, the cleaner!) insisted on giving me a guided tour of the artifacts, and a history of Nizhny, and biting our cheeks Hasha translated and i tried tolook attentive. it was at the Kremlin that Hasha realised she had lost her phone, and we marched the whole way back through the city to the cafe where she asked about it (Hasha can speak practically fluent Russian, as itis very similar to polish- and she lives in the east). it was at the cafe, huffing and puffing, unzipping my jacket and fleece, that i saw the most beautiful man. seriously, among the volunteers there is a general consensus that russianmen in general are quite unattractive, and although i would agree; there does exist the random Adonis that you will see roaming the streets; who completely vindicate the rest of the male population. Dima Bilan, the hottest eurovision winner ever for example. now there is an odd quality to true russian male hotness, there is something very quiet and gentle about them. as Marie pointed out, russians have very clear eyes; often blue. there is thecommon aggressively attractive russian, who are hardy looking men with blunt features and generous brows, lips and cheeks that will easily weather the depths of the russian winter and the various other ups and downs of modern post-soviet Russia, mafia and all. and then there are these gentle souls, that seem almost bird or deer like, despite not appearing scrawny or feeble whatsoever. they are like fawns. and often have the clearest fair skin, that looks like it has been breathed into, or kissed by some arctic goddess, dark velvety hair and the most expressive clear blue eyes. one such man was this, who i gawked at in the cafe, shyly reading the menu on the wall. he was perhaps one of the most beautiful people i have everseen, from a completely objective point of view, with neat bone structure and long limbs. he is a national treasure, and probably one fiercely guarded by a legion of women, as they are constantly competing for men here; and who can blame them, with a gender ration of 1:6 or something ridiculous. but seriously, russian women are always groomed and glamourous. they strutt around in knee high leather high heeled boots, and mini skirts, despite the weather. today i even saw bare knees!after the whole phone crisis, we concluded that it had been stolen, and traipsed all the way back to sfera where she got her sim cancelled, and then i sat on facebook uploading photos becasue i was bored. after an hour or soof nothing to do, Hasha invited me back to her apartment. we got a tram to Polshad Lenina, went shopping in a supermarket (where i bought apples and some other random things like paper plates- for my scented candles, and tissue)and then back to hers. where we sat in the kitchen discussing stuff and eating grapes (the fruit here is lovely), and she gave me a very interesting insight into communist poland as someone who could remember queing hours to get meat, and explaining that whenthere was food on supermarket shelves (which was very very rare), no matter how much money you had you could not buy it. in general she has a very enlightened perspective as someone with a degree in international relations. i asked if she had had any encounters with the mafia and discovered that apparently there is an illegal brothel in the building beside them! advertised as a sauna, where you can pay for a man or woman. i then successfully found my way to Moskowski Woksal onto bus number 23, off at the right stop, into the right building and home! i spent the rest of the night looking over my russian and trying to read the alphabet, of course interspersed with Siroja's playful antics and general curiousity. i had bought him this cardboard set with pieces you push out and work together to make a raindeer, and we sat for about forty minutes trying to work it out. before dinner i also helpedhim read over his english homework. he has the most adorable russian accent. im beginning to love the way Russians say 'Rachel'; Ray-Chelle- with an almost childlike pique on the 'Ray'. and i think they like saying it. so governmental bus or bowshoal avtobuse number 7 tomorrow morning...

10.11.08

went to sfera in the morning. i have to explain about the Russian matroshkas (i think) or malinka avtobuse and bigger private ones. it is eleven roubles to get anywhere in the city, which is about 20p. they are informal, old clumsy machines that warble along, packed full of glum russians, who gogle at anyone smiling too brightly, and in general dont smell good. they circulate throughout the city continuously so you arenever waiting more then ten or fifteen minutes, and a bus conductor approaches passengers- whom they pay. they are very good at paying, even hidden from sight, or unnoticed the russians pass their coins along the crowd, and theirchange or ticket is relayed back. the buses have been my biggest fear so far, although some of the other volunteers have assured me that they've gotten onto the wrong one and ended up lost, but today, stomach turning back flipsi managed to get home from the language lesson alone. when i say alone i mean of course, accompanying Geraldine and Martina onto bus no. 90 to some street, crossing the bridge underground, being directed onto bus no. 23 successfullyfighting my urge to get off at every stop before i ended up in the Ukraine, jumping up with a hallelujah when i finally saw the Spar lights that mark my stop. so really what i achieved was managing to stay put til the right stop. but baby steps...baby steps, my confidence has grown at least. the journey ended in failure however, as i went into the wrong apartment building, up a lift and cowed by my instincts realised i was in the wrong place. and then of course,i couldnt get the door open. at least i finally got to say 'ya nye panemayo pas Ruskee' to the old man who opened the door for me, subsequently 'trapping' me. a few desperate text messages later and eventually Susha phoned,and after a confused dialogue she finally communicated that after pushing the button, you are meant to push the door open.

window view

i met Sveta on her way home at the spar, and she brought me back. tonight was good, had some bonding timeover dinner, when her and Siroja (Sergei) endeavoured to teach me more. Sirusha is such a little angel, there is something so benevolent about him, even in his playful cheekiness. Sveta loves him dearly, that much is obvious, and he helps her learn English (having lessons in school), and i think it is a game for him, saying english words and hearing me repeat the Russian, he managed to say 'for you' and gave me a pretty little new notepad! which he explained is 'blakpad' (i think) in russian. he could grow up to be such an outstanding man, that is if the state of the economy doesnt stunt him. as i am afraid it has done to so many russians, deprived of the oppurtunites we enjoy in the west. crossing the bridge underground today there were two men busking, playing a violin and some other instrument, and the music was properly outstanding, beyond any of the feeble buskers back home; and yet they looked as grimy and unkept as the many russian men stalking around, faces of stone. the streets are properly intimidating, because truely noone smiles and everyone seems so hostile, and yet when you speak with russians they are the most open, friendly andhospital people; (well so i have experienced so far). Geraldine, a german volunteer, told me she got on the wrong bus one day, and a russian woman who understood her 'o shit, i'm on the wrong bus' helped her search for her apartmentfor an hour! and their contentment and optimism is truely admirable. Sveta gave me a letter which she had translated into english saying that 'if anything doesnt suffice, just let me know' etc. it was sooo sweet! and shehas prepared labels in russian and english to stick to objects! apart from that heart stopping and then warming evening, this morning i went to SFERA where i tried to imply that i would prefer to live in an apartment with the two other volunteers Magda (who is currently in temporary accomodation) and Nickola (who is living with a family, but would prefer to be with volunteers).
During my visit Darina also organised private intensive russian lessons with another Sergei (who i met at the party and is studying postgraduate Byzantine history at university) which begin tomorrow at Polshad Lenina. And then i went to visit Bettina at her projectin a library, so i could borrow russian children's picture books. Bettina also wrote down the Russian alphabet for me, and we laughed so hard together, i almost wet myself when she went from 'tsch' to 'tsh'. Bettina is sooo nice! i thinkshe will be a good friend, she just bursts into random goofy laughter. at literally nothing. at the moment i am sitting in on the russian classes which are far too advanced for me to take anything from, the volunteers having been learning for two months. but i will be taught by Sergei every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday morning, and i am determined to master it, because i am determined to communicate! i would love to live with other volunteers, for the freedom and independance, and feeling of ownership rather then being a guest, but i also want to experience the real russia, and that means living with a real russian family- it will be harder, volunteer fun seems like the easy way out. not that i wont choose it, but will regret it more probably. but why should it be so hard? living with a pole and croation/frenchman away from home for the fist time, in a foreign country, will still be an experience! and i really like Magda. but who knows...

09.11.08

i can see it happening... Alexander (Sasha)...who i was desperate to like, out of gratitude for his patience and workable grasp of english has been accompanying me mostly every where so far, at first i genuinely liked him- but then of course it turned to using, and then affection from guilt, and now... he asks me questions about how i will live with my 'husband', he explains all the merits of russian men and their courtship traditions, he calls me a hero... being dependant on him is so suffocating! at the party last night i would cringe inwardly everytime he tried to follow or would watch me, or dragged me to the kitchen for another 'russian tradition' of drinking with your friends. and the party was soooo good! nothing brightens the spirit like a bit of dancing! it was my first volunteer party, in Hasha, Marie and Artur's flat- a place far more bigger and spacious then where i am currently living. And all three of them are soooooooooooo great.all the volunteers are great in fact. its such a relief being around people in a similar situation. Hasha is this aggressive polish girl who greeted me by forcing a shot of vodka into a hand, and a slice of bread into the other- and continually gathered people, giving out alcohol like it would go out of fashion and proposing toasts to Rachel the new volunteer. And Marie, the little petite french girl who is so adorable and caring, immediately she began introducing me to peopleand i could tell that if i were to withdraw into a corner it would be her to fetch me out. Artur, the polish Philosophy teacher who gave me a manual to Nizhny Novgorod and seemed particularly interested in having proper conversations, i get really good vibes from him.

Marie- Ann and Andrea

i was surprisingly open, having one really funny conversation with a korean student Yung, that couldnt speak english- while i cant speak korean or russian. We stayed over because there was no buses at that time in the morning, and Sasha, who by this point was mumbling senselessly and imposing his awkward presence in the background, tried to sleep beside me! out of some freaking guardian delusion, that somehow encouraged his first thought to be of me when he woke up! David, a Russian who grew up in Germany whom i 'connected' with in an interesting discussion, and randomly suggested Jewish when we played the 'you dont look irish, where are you from?' game, thankfully intervened in Russian, (David is a volunteer, but with another organisation; there were about fifty people at this party, not all of them doing EVS). Hasha finally harassed Sasha into another room. in the morning i got up, and about fifteen minutes later Sasha was awake as well, and we sat in the kitchen with another Russian couple who had stayed the night, watching Sasha and Sergei drink more wine! (in what he later explained to me was yet another 'russian tradition), while leaving every couple of minutes to smoke outside. i finally impressed on him the need to leave, because of Sveta's son, Sergei's, birthday. and, after making some strange attempt to communicate with Marie, we left. my heart thundering because i was sure he was drunk and would either make some ridiculous attempt on me, get us lost, or walk out in front of a car. he held it together though, as russian men probably do, even managing to warn me on the bus that i should stay away from men who are drunk on the streets, and despite making some rash decisions to step out onto busy roads we got back to Sveta's, and i saw my first snow on the way, and prepared for Sergei's (Sveta's son) birthday.
four of his friends came, two girls and another boy; and of course most of the time they poked one another or threw cushions at each other. Sasha's translation and explanation and unnessessary intervention just became infuriating, so that, in my exhausted state, i didnt want to touch him or so much as look at him, hopefully communicating so much in the blunt body language i can be so guilty of, while not rejecting his friendship. and i am probably being too hard on him, he is probably very well intending- maybe in my emotional nervousness i am just overly paranoid. he is nice, i think he tried to apologize for being so drunk. men can just make me panic, especially in this situation. Sergei is a delightful boy, i've spent about four hours with him so far, and he always brings Muzik to me, or just smiles. he's very beautiful, with such light expressive eyes, (the beauty in Russian men seems to be in their eyes) and is always smiling and chatting, he has such a free charisma.
However, at the party, i discovered that one Korean boy- with fluent english and an american accent, Jehnya Kang, and a german girl Deborah who wants to study at Trinity both attend the Vineyard Church i found on the internet before i came.we've exchanged numbers, as i managed to pocket alot that night- and pass around my own liberally, so hopefully i will get to go sometime soon! i was also invited by an english speaking Russian girl to go to some English classes at the local university so the students can practice their english- that's if i can get there! I would love to meet more russians my own age, and make friends. i think i managed to at least meet everyone at the party, it was so fun! tomorrow there is nothing planned for me because Piano Theatre is still in Moscow, so i will go to SFERA in the morning, bum around on the internet and if i can work up the courage, go look around some shops, because in my oversized colourful Trespass coat i feel like such a tourist- especially among the somehow glamorous figure flaunting russian women, (despite the cold).
every day has been if not equal to, better then the last. it's not getting worse... so i am optimistic that it will get better. you have to be optimistic in russia. especially when university graduates less then i did in my job at Woodsides...

Magda and Yung

7/11/08

I've survived my first night in Russia. When i got off the plane after a long, thirsty, grimy journey from Heathrow my first thought was 'Mate, it's going to be a cold winter'. You can almost feel some menacing vindictive force of nature preparing to unleash a constricting freeze on 'us' (i'm not sure if i can say 'us' yet). the temperature isn't unbearable, at all, but it's got this sinister iciness to it that just seems to promise worse. A coat and cardigan is enough for the moment (too bad all i've brought is freaking arctic gear!!!!!!! thanks dad. i have discovered my alter ego; Super Tourist -_-)
On the flight from Vienna to Nizhny Novgorod, when i was surrounded by Russians for the first time (who don't seem to look around themselves) I fluctuated between terror, relief and a shy anticipation. and then the plane angled sideways and broke through paradise, so that i was sitting on the edge of my seat, desperate for a glimpse, practically holding my breath as we drifted through cloud, becoming, with a sinking stomach, terrible aware that it was getting greyer and greyer.
And then behold, finally; Russia. I don't know if i'd say it was an anti-climax, because i wasn't expecting green fields and rainbows... it was climatical in that it made me still, in that old silent reverenced tremor i slip into sometimes. but fear gave way to curiosity, and then awe. even relief. the landscape is literally black. i'd heard about russian black soil in some documentary, but even above us the clouds had seemed to darken, around us the air was grey and below leagues of leafless sleeping trees sprawled over an incredibly flat land. and when the plane landed everyone jumped up and began donning these big coats that literally appeared from nowhere, of course i followed suit, and was glad of it.
i realise these details are probably insignificant but i have time (i'm at an office- i'll explain later) and that first impression was surreal, almost confusing; i didn't know what to say, although it occured to me that words and feelings were unnessassary at that point, and with an almost spiritual gulp i determined to just accept it. acceptance replacing panic was also down to exhaustion. when the bus pulled up to this bomb-shelter looking airport i was relieved to have finally just arrived.
i tried to engrave moments into my mind throughout the journey; getting onto the plane at Vienna etc, but the sight of that air port printed itself on my memory indepandently of any effort. i felt like we had arrived at some hostel in the antarctic. it was this small weary looking shelter. but here, bleakness is a secondary consideration, especially in the cold. optimistic as i had intended that idea to be, the 'glory' of survival is quickly being reduced to reality. it's cold and grey, and that's it.
i'm living from moment to moment, the only certainty is the decision to be overwhelmed or to appreciate. to appreciate that right now i'm ok, i'm healthy. And I thank God for the strength to continue.
after a long slow queue at a paranoid passport control, reminiscent of what might be communism (of course i can say that with the ignorance of a presumptious western student- philosophical and political because its fashionable), and then having my luggage screened, i was met by Darina (my co-ordinator) and Ksenia (my mentor). they are both 22, petite and very attractive. and very nice and well meaning.
i didn't get to see much of the city because it was so dark. but eventually, after dragging my monster bag around (thought i had packed too much until i met the other volunteers; someone tried to bring 32 kilos!) we were met by Sveta, my host for two weeks- possibly less. the original full term host pulled out at the last moment for personal reasons, so i'm staying with Sveta for the mean time. her apartment has a kitchen, toilet, washroom and two other rooms which double as a living room/bedroom and a study/bedroom. none of the rooms are bigger then my upstairs bathroom, and there's something oppressive about the toilet where the walls seem to almost press against you. it's a very warm flat, so warm i couldn't sleep- carpets have been pinned to the wall (for insulation purposes i think). it's a nice place, very homely and traditional- apart from the close living space it is very comfortable. my bed folds out from a sofa, but so does Sveta's (in the living room), which she will be sharing with her son who arrives tomorrow evening.


(my room)


She's emptied a wardrobe for me- which is very generous; i have no idea where her or her son's stuff is. the best thing about the flat is her cat, Musik- which you pronounce with a roll of the tongue (which of course i can't do) who she rescued from the street. He's this shiny beautiful sack of fluff and affection, that slept on my bed last night, i'm so glad of his company, having stupidly decided to leave behind my teddy. Having something to cuddle could be my salvation.


(Muzik)


Sveta doesn't speak English, but we are developing
an easy companionship, she's one of those people that isnt afraid of silence. which is such a relief, and we're trying to learn from one another. She's taught me sakar for sugar, bacha for bye and some other words i've forgotten but will write down. Ksenia tells me she plans to stick labels to things in Russian, I'll contribute the English- so hopefully both of our language skills can improve. she made me a big bowl of uncooked vegtable salad which was delicious, and just what i needed. and we each had a small plate of fried potatoe. Breakfast was a sweet curd and small slice of bread with some type of ham and butter.
i wrote that all down at Sveta's office this morning, where i accompanied her and Ksenia to work. The night before i had moments of despondancy and temptation to despair, as i lay hot and thirsty, but opening the window and looking out on the city enthused me a bit; You're in Russia i told myself, but the unknown is absolutely terrifying- but when hope grows, it is also so full of possibility. and this morning, i felt better. i always thought solace was easy for me; it is, but in vulnerability its nice to have a friend or even someone going through something similiar- i didnt realise i was such an expressive person. but i convinced myself the next day would be better, and it was. getting washed, putting on perfume, feeling fresher and chirpy. we got two hectic buses to her office. where Ksenia had tried to explain to me the night before, all her colleagues wanted to meet me. the building has been open for four months aparently, it's really new. the entire city seems to be in some type of birth labour- theres building sites everywhere, and its almost this violent struggle between what went before and whats coming. of course, i couldnt communicate with anyone, and just sat writing down all that above, but then lunch came and we all went downstairs, and just being around them as they laughed together made me feel so much better.
so when i arrived at SFERA i was able to meet about five other volunteers, i conversed with three of them; Nikola; a croation/frenchman, Andrea; an austrian who is working at the same placement as me so will be seeing much more of her and is also eighteen, Lisa; another austrian, Geraldine; a german who would fit in back home so easily. what a relief to have met them, young dynamic enthusiastic people that aren't struggling, and the pole Artur who i greeted but didn't get the oppurtunity to talk to. all of them, accept for Nikola who can speak pretty fluent Russian are living with other volunteers...they invited me to a party tomorrow. i've no idea how i'd get there but hopefully.
Sveta is going to another town tomorrow to pick up her son, she won't be back til the evening so i have the flat to myself until twelve when Ksenia suggested meeting me at the flat to go into the city centre, and then eventually introduce me to her husband. that's the plan for now but they went back to work and i didn't arrange anything concrete with Ksenia and then there's the party...