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!