Another week, another dozen near death experiences involving маршрутки/buses/cars. The roads of Russia really are a free-for-all. Seeing as I normally float around in a daze hither and thither with no regard to my surroundings, Russia was probably not the best choice.
This week has been eventful! I started teaching my first student – I am teaching our beloved English language to a high-powered businesswoman. I don't think she was too impressed when I turned up late (having gotten horrendously lost on a marshrutka on the way), looking tatty and wearing a lip piercing. Oops. I'd also gone in worrying about the fact that I smelt of fags... only to realise that it was a tobacco factory. I could feel my lungs shying away in nervous anticipation of the lung cancer to come. There were a few minutes of stilted conversation at first, but once we got into the flow of things it was all fine and dandy. Apart from the awkward moment when the whole of the production line staff laughed at me for being English/dressing oddly/speaking funny, everything went swimmingly. She's lovely and is really keen to learn, even if I don't know what the heck I'm talking about most of the time. One day she'll realise that my version of English grammar is somewhat awry. But I intend to have left Russia by then.
I have a new Russian friend, hurrah! I used the age-old trick of leaving my name and number on the table in a cafe for a waiter. I planned to leave the note and then make a swift and crafty escape to avoid embarrassment. Note written (You wanna speak some Russian with me?), me and Hamad made preparations to chip it out of the door, leaving no trace of our previous presence. We stood slowly, tense as the waiter passed by. Like Olympic track athletes at the starting line, waiting for the gun to fire that initial shot, we braced ourselves for escape. The waiter started talking to another customer and we legged it. Stumbling desperately towards the door, the exit was within reach when suddenly we heard shouts of 'Девушка, девушка!' ('Girl, girl!'). Shitter. He'd caught us. Hamad had left his scarf under the table and so our lovely waiter was returning it. This was followed by an awkward pause before me and Hamad decided to go for escape attempt number two and actually managed to leave. So, assuming that we'd decimated our chances of talking to a new Russkii by being typical awkward English-types and shuffling away instead of making conversation, I didn't think anything would come of it. But lo! Later that evening good old Pasha texted me asking if I still wanted to speak Russian with him. A brief phone call later, we'd arranged to meet the next day for a chatskii. So today we went to meet him and conversed for some time in Кофе Xаус. Well, I say conversed. It was mostly me and Hamad not understanding and him laughing at all the stupid noises we were making. But he seems like a nice chap, and no doubt I shall see him again.
In other news, the electricity went off in the flat the other day. It came back on and now the boiler has switched itself off. Ah Russia, you and your love of inconsistent services/facilities/everything. It'll be weird not having frequent power cuts back in England. And food that doesn't taste like Chernobyl. Christmas seems so soon. The time here has gone so quickly here. Hallowe'en is inching ever closer, and as usual my amazing costume ideas that require planning will be forgotten until the last minute and I'll end up covering myself in loo roll and saying I'm a mummy. Again.
Talking of Hallowe'en, here's a pumpkin-related video:
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