Must leave fewer notes for waiters

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:

http://cuteanimals.todaysbigthing.com/2010/10/14

Pigeon attack

Sitting in a cafe with Amalia and Joanna listening to Brandy, the dead bodies and looming dentist appointments seem so far away. I'm finally starting to appreciate black tea too – if you ask for tea with milk in Russia you will most likely be met with a look of horror and a slap. Black tea with lemon is the way forward!

I experienced my first bab-related delay the other day. The бабушки (grandmas) in Russia are the stuff of legends – little old ladies dressed in head-scarves with faces like prunes and the barging ability of a bulldozer. I was on the way to school having already missed one lesson and running ten minutes late for the second, I found myself trapped in a crowd of about fifty grannies. I turned left and right, looking for an escape to safety but there was no way out. The only option left was to barge a bab. I mustered all my courage and pushed the least hench looking OAP in an attempt to get through. A tirade of angry Russian followed along with a shove back into the centre of the silver brigade. I was half an hour late to school because of Russia's angry pensioners, so I decided to hang about Sennaya Ploschad for a bit instead of making it into the lesson.

I booked my dentist appointment as well. I was slightly concerned when the receptionist said that the dentist spoke English 'very, very badly', but when I met her it turned out her English was fine. I cannot express how much I hate the dentist, and the idea of seeing one in Russia is not a particularly pleasing idea. However! She had a gander and all should be sorted by Tuesday. Hoorah! I could've been seen straight away but in a state of panic I ran away to feed bread to pigeons with Amalia. We were practically assaulted! To start with there were two or three pigeons, followed by a HUGE FLOCK of every feathered entity in the universe. There were some right tatty old birds, including one that we christened Ruffles McGee, who was too slow to get any bread. Bless 'im. I also accidentally booted a pigeon up the bum trying to shoo them away with my foot which was bare hilare. I've always secretly wanted to do it but have never been able to overcome the moral dilemma (whether to potentially ruin my shoes with poo or not).

This is Ruffles McGee:

I added the bow tie but he was already wearing the hat and holding a cane.

I've also now developed a new addiction... to ukelele! We went for dinner at the lovely Bekki and Martha's flat (which incidentally was ВКУСНO) and I had a little play around with Bekki's ukelele. Sooo much fun. I'm thinking of buying one. Spare change anyone?

Even egg and chips tastes weird in Russia

So, I still have toothache. Looks like I'll have to pay a trip to a Russian dentist, waaaah! I've been recommended a good one that is supposedly fluent in English so we shall see. I'll probably end up having all my teeth removed and become a toothless old crone. At the minute I'm dosed up on some hench painkillers and antibiotics which should do for the time being. I'm down with the physical pain, but the tooth pain related bullying at school is really getting to me. Some people just don't know when enough's enough.

In other more gruesome news, I saw a dead body on the street today. Two suspicious looking men were dragging him away and loading him into a boot. Welcome to Russia! It was really surreal and something I'm not in a hurry to see again. It's strange how callous an attitude there seems to be towards death in Russia, no one seemed bothered or shocked by it.

On a more positive note, I'm off to Moscow on the 16^th! Just for the night to see my partner in crime at Sheffield Uni, Joe 'The Rave' Grange. I'm sooo excited! Even for all Joe's vomming everywhere and bringing home random transvestites he's a nice chap. Hopefully a few people will be going, I don't fancy getting the train alone. Judging by my track record I'd end up in Leeds or something. Again.

Last night we all went to a Mike's 21^st birthday do – as usual I was roughly five hours (fashionably) late. It was a good night – some unexpected hook ups (or just the one shocker actually), a good mix of alcohol and antibiotics, and a bit of a cheeky Atelier (a club in Petersburg, rapidly becoming my regular). I also drunk dialled my friend, shot a lot of vodka after saying I wasn't going to drink, and stole a lot of cigarettes without being caught. Standard. I didn't see Mike towards the end of the night but considering the fact that he started drinking before 12pm I'm sure it must have only ended well. I somehow made it into school looking and feeling rough but to be honest I think I felt worse for the ridiculously oily egg and chips I made myself the night before than the alcohol. Bleeehhh. I was missing home so thought I'd eat something typically English, then realised I don't particularly like egg and chips. Also the crucial sausage was missing. At the risk of innuendo, I'm really craving a good bit of sausage. I'm not especially carnivorous in Britain – I basically just eat what's coming my way – but it's been a month-ish since I had proper meat and I can practically hear the anaemia. I had a quick gander at the meat in our local 'posh' shop and it was green. The cheaper shop, Dixi, also stocks meat, but a friend's landlady told him to “never ever ever buy meat from Dixi”. Maybe I won't then.

I finally bought a coat! It makes me look like a marshmallow made of poo but it's practical. It's the perfect complement to my ginger roots – I attempted to dye my hair back to it's natural brown colour and ended up with red roots. Stupid Russian hair dye. So I'm going to dye it black again. Or bleach it.......

Ouch

Once again horrendously hungover – this is the aftermath of three nights out in a row. I'm also suffering from toothache which a) is terrifying in case I have to see a Russian dentist and b) means I've had to spend the day holding a chilled can of Baltika to my face. It's been a fun weekend though, although I mysteriously ended up twatted every night after deciding not to drink excessively. I will probably (maybe) cut down in future and perhaps sort my life out. I'd like to think that wandering the streets in a man's coat and a шапка holding a fag and a bottle of beer was not the epitome of my blossoming youth. Also there's some recordings of me singing which will hopefully never see the light of day that were definitely the result of alcohol.

It's starting to get chilly now, but I've been told the heating comes on tomorrow! Hoorah! Yes, in Russia the heating is centrally controlled, so the state gas companies decide when the heating is turned on and off. Basically it's on in winter and off in spring. Supposedly it's absolutely boiling inside when it comes on so I shall be spending my days around the flat in hotpants. At the minute it's quite cold inside but I craftily bought a blanket from Ikea which functions both as a bed cover and fashionable garment. Here's a picture of me modelling said blanket with the lovely Chris and Sophie:

I'd like to point out that my face is not always like that, I was pretending to be an evil бабушка at the time. So yeah, it's getting to hideous coat weather. I have one short black coat that is possibly the only waterproof coat I've ever had. I look a right heffer in it. People keep running out of the way screaming when I wear it because I look so unbelievably hench. I'm going to invest in a coat more a la mode from Zara, but it's going to set me back a lot. That's one thing I've noticed here – the coats are really bad quality and very expensive for what they are. If you come to Russia, buy a coat in England! I'm considering wearing a duvet for the time being. I have bought myself a furry hat though, from that oh so authentic Russian shop, Topshop. It's practically bigger than me but it'll keep me warm and is a good pillow for those nights you end up drunkenly crashing at someone else's house.

Anyway, I'm off to do some of the gargantuan pile of homework that I've left until the last minute. And then nap for all of eternity.

Bleh.

So, I went to the Hermitage! Well, I say I went... I queued for a bit and decided it was taking too long, so sacked it off and went for a Teremok instead. Now I must explain what Teremok is for those of you who aren't in Russia. Teremok is a really common chain fast food place here – imagine MacDonalds... but with PANCAKES! I am a massive fan of pancakes. You could say I'm a fan-cake. So this is the perfect solution for my ever hungry self, although I'm not sure how long my body will take the abuse of three heart attack inducing pancakes a day in place of real food. But in a country where the food is either plain nasty or totally different to what you were expecting, it's a nice addition. Here is a picture of an 'E-mail' pancake which is my usual order. I don't know what's in it, something like mushrooms n ting:

<3

After bunking off the Hermitage we went for a гулять around Nevskii for some shopping. I assumed I could wing it with a very short leather jacket in winter but my legs are none too happy about the situation so looks like I'll have to buy a proper coat, like. It's so expensive here!! The coats not only cost an arm and a leg, you would have to lose an arm and a leg to afford enough coat to be warm. Did get ambushed by 'free hugs' people on the way though, provided some temporary insulation.

Apart from the failed trip to the Hermitage, the week so far has been busy-ish. I've been helping some friends find a flat – they are using the same estate agent that we used, Ira. She's absolutely lovely but doesn't speak any English apart from the odd mispronounced word ("I k-now"") And keeps telling me to buy a better coat, put on weight and screw as many men over as possible while I'm still young. Bless 'er. She's been so ridiculously helpful! Sorted out my internet, recommended where to buy Halaal meat to a friend, pointed us in the direction of a good place to buy coats. Alllllll sorts. She taught me a Russian swearword too, one that I should “never, ever, ever use in a lesson, or in fact, in life”. So naturally I have drawn up a contract with a certain chap in my class to outline the conditions under which he must slip the word 'бля' into a lesson, for which he will receive payment of 100 roubles. In return I have to use the archaic Irish phrasing 'tomorrow week' instead of 'a week tomorrow'. I foolishly didn't read the small print that stated I have to do this until the end of time...

There are endless birthdays and visitors this next week or so (well, two birthdays and one visitor. Endless!) so we shall see if I get round to blogging from the nadir of what promises to be an epic hangover!

Сюрприииз!

Hangoveeeeeeeer. It was my friend Kiia's birthday on Thursday so we decided to throw a surprise party for her last night. Her reaction was bare hilare, she literally had nooo clue as to what was going on. Somehow she didn't find out or guess, even up to the point where she came to the flat. Phoebe took Kiia out for cocktails to give us time to get ready and the plan was that they'd come and pick me up on the way to a fictitious club. Phoebe had a stroke of genius for the name of this fabled club – Мой Дом. Very swish! Even with 30+ people ssshh-ing loudly in the kitchen, the fact that I was supposedly sitting in the kitchen in the dark, and the mystery club with a suspect name, Kiia didn't catch on. The actual surprise was hilarious, people leaning in with party hats on and cheesy grins. Everyone arrived quite early which was good in terms of getting people drunk and lairy for Kiia's arrival.

After the party we left to go to a club called Metro which according to Phoebe's guide book is a really cool place to go for teens. It was flipping huge, with four floors and horrible carpets. For those of you who have had the pleasure of going to Liquid in Nuneaton, imagine that but bigger and with fewer Russians. The music was hit and miss, but Chris bought me shots so it was aaaall OK in the end. I think, possibly, I may have been drunk... A lot of people and a lot of alcohol were involved. Unexpected pairings, a fight, several falls and deep conversations were the order of the night. Scaaaandalous!

We came back home a really, really, really long way at about 5am. Ah that sinking feeling when you see Nevskii Prospekt! And then realise you're on the wrong bloody end of it. To make things even better, MacDonalds was closed! Where on earth was I to get my чикенбууууургер now?! Me, Phoebe, Eli, Karin and David went back to the flat to wait for the metro to open again and get some munch and a cuppa tea. Phoebe went to bed and I got my usual drunken 'let's fry an egg' urge. I proceeded to burn some toast and chuck a load of cheese and fried eggs over it. Probably the first time I've ever successfully fried an egg. On a spinney office chair, wasted. As in I was on the chair drunk and cooking an egg, the egg wasn't whirling around on the chair with a bottle of vodka in hand. It was bitter-sweet though – soooomebody, somebody who demanded the tea and edibilities in the first place, was too sleepy to have any and had a nap on the table instead. Tsh, some people.

In other news, met a random Russian man in the street and exchanged numbers, I've become addicted to Teremok in place of fags and I REALLY WANT SOME ROLLERSKATES!

Anyway, I'm losing the will to live. Au revoir mes amis! I'm actually going to be a tourist and go to the Hermitage tomorrow, so might actually put useful stuff on here. Probs won't though.

Me, my hilarious face and the looovely Kiia.

First coupla weeks в России

Well... I appear to be in Russia. Thought I'd join the blogging masses to keep you unwashed lot updated of my adventures. Mostly because it's either this or SMI homework. S..c..r...eeeeew that!

I've been here for two weeks and I'm already in flipping love with Saint Petersburg. I don't know what it is about this city, but there's definitely something special about it. Maybe it's the ludicrously cheap sushi, or the endless pancakes. Or the people defecating in the street. Who knows, either way I can tell I'm going to love my time here.

The last two weeks have been.. turbulent. The first night in the Motherland was horrendous. I arrived at my homestay accommodation after a stupidly long bus ride into the 'back of beyond' (as the Russians call it, otherwise known as Vaslievskii island). Although the prolific graffiti and loitering ruffians added a certain charm to the post-soviet tower blocks, something just didn't feel right. With the added trauma of meeting my khoziaika and realising I couldn't understand or speak any Russian, I did wonder why the HECK I'd chosen to learn Russian instead of some sun-related language like Spanish. Contemplating the fact that I was consigned to the ghetto for nine month, I tried to work out the best way of integrating into the local gang culture to protect myself. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door! Upon arriving at the airport I'd been told I'd be staying with another girl in the same apartment, but she was arriving later. Miss Phoebe Spurr arrived in the evening, when I'd all but given up hope and was plotting my escape through the window with the aid of bedsheets. We got talking and it became pretty clear that neither of us wanted to stay there, so on a whim we decided to move out. I knew I'd like her after she started talking about her bowels even though we'd just met.

This decision to leave was further consolidated by the fried pasta that we had for tea. With a HUGE chunk of loathsome tomato. We couldn't find the bin so naturally we threw it out of the window when Zinaida left the room. Other culinary delights from Zinaida's kitchen included salt omelette (salt with a pinch of egg), pancakes with dates and smetana and pancakes with cabbage. Yes, cabbage.

Looong story short, me and Phoebe have now moved to a shiny new flat and are livin' it laaaarge! Our flat is right in the centre of Petersburg, about 15 minutes from Nevskii Prospekt. It's so cute! Very 70s. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I haven't travelled back in time. It's difficult when there are so many mullets and lairy trousers around. I've got inexplicable mullet envy at the minute. Do I take the plunge and get one? Ooooh dilemma. I've also got my heart set on getting some roller blades, they are quite the craze on Nevskii. I'm so well coordinated it would be a crime NOT to get them.

The house-warming party went well, judging from the fifteen empty vodka bottles left at the end. Nobody decided to trash the flat which was nice, apart from one person in particular (you know who you are) wanting to wee in the sink. It was laaaavely to see everyone together, even if I was too much of a drunken mess later to hold a conversation.

All in all I feel like I've settled in Russia. I've done absolutely nothing constructive or tourist-y, I've permanently damaged my lungs and liver, and I'm already skiving off the doss lessons to go get coffee/pancakes/fags. Juuust like home. So yeah this blog is probably what ze Engleeesh call “useless”. Who knows, maybe one day I'll post something informative. Oh the anticipation!

Here is a hilarious picture of a dog with a mullet:

Ha.

до скоро!