So, the first camp, and my first two weeks of camp, has just come to an end. The next camp starts tomorrow. This last camp went perfectly well, and so I am looking forward to the next two (that amount to four weeks' work). As you know, I'm still taking in my normal salary, but I have no greater outgoing expenses than the occasional Mars bar or bottle of Coca Cola. Ok, I also consume the odd beer over the weekend with the leaders and teachers that I have met here.

The challenges that I spoke of in my last email - with kids thinking that they somehow only answered to their team-leaders, and not to me - sorted itself out pretty quickly as I had hoped. They ended up being a very decent class. Also, I bonded very well with my young teenagers (13 - 14 years old), and so I was very happy.

Both classes worked diligently for me over these two weeks. By the end of this last week, my eight-to-eleven year olds were begging me to teach them the 'present perfect' tense (sentences with the verb 'have' and a 'past participle', such as "I have been on camp for two weeks"). If you have heard of the old grid game known as 'Battleship', I have semi-invented a way for the kids to practise all kinds of tenses by using pronouns along the vertical axis and grammar commands along the horizontal axis. Forming sentences to plot their coordinates (eg. "You aren't singing" would plot 'you' down the vertical axis and 'continuous tense' in the negative along the horizontal axis), the kids aim to destroy one another's ships and they seem to find it quite a bit of fun.

Drawing a similar grid up on the board (and this one is my own idea completely), I number the squares, and the kids have to form sentences according to the number (eg. if the number 4 is in a square with 'we' as its vertical coordinate and a question form of 'have + past participle' as its horizontal coordinate, then the students need to form the appropriate question in the perfect tense). Using a small ball, we throw it around, and whoever catches it must produce the correct sentence for the next number in the sequence. This is a very good form of highly controlled speaking practice. Once they have the idea, we can then play all sorts of ball games. One example is Dodge Ball, where the person throwing the ball in the attempt to hit another player must first produce the required sentence; but there are many other games we can play. The kids normally take to these games with so much enthusiasm that they forget that I'm drilling grammar with them.

My teenagers also worked extremely well. However, towards the end of two weeks with undoubtedly little sleep, they were beginning to lose their momentum for classroom English, and so I invented yet another game. I call it 'English Basketball', but the game can be adapted I think for many other sports' games. Basically, we just went to the courts and played basketball together during class time, but the rule was that if they used Russian it counted as a foul. I also made it very clear that everyone would have to participate fully, or else we would go back to class. This got the girls involved (especially when I almost marched them back). With those two rules in place, they also had to ask a question whenever they passed the ball, and upon catching the ball they had to answer the question as they played. The questions, of course, had to be original each time. Finally, whenever they scored a basket I gave them a challenging English task to complete verbally in order to 'keep' the point. Once they got the hang of it, it went far better than I had expected, and I can say that there was some language justification for this game. It was freer fluency practice and a good stab at an 'English Only' environment.

And so I have been playing a lot of sports at this camp - perhaps two or three hours a day. It feels great for the body to get so much exercise.

It has also been extremely interesting to watch young Russian children so closely. I said in my last email that I find them to be extremely confident when it comes to singing and dancing together. The way they interact is very satisfying. I went to their disco again last night, and they danced perfectly well for two or three hours. They are certainly better at dancing than their contemporaries in NZ or Australia (or any other country in which I have lived, for that matter), and many of them are better dancers than most adult dancers I know also. It's fun to watch and even more fun to participate.

I only have a couple of gripes with this camp, and that's the food and my bathroom. The food is the same insipid selection every day - meaning that I can vary my food over at most a two-or-three day period before it begins to feel exceptionally repetitive - and it's horrible to think that I have to go through four more weeks of this. It could be worse, I guess, but, by way of an example, their idea of pasta is... well, it's exactly that - pasta, and nothing more. It is just plain pasta with absolutely nothing in it - not even butter or a few herbs. Next to it is a bowl of tomato sauce and another bowl of grated cheese. To be fair, they make a lot of salads, but man cannot survive on salads alone! When it comes to meat, it is roasted chicken every day, with much emphasis on 'EVERY DAY'.

My bathroom is also pretty distressing, but I'll keep this brief. Basically, the toilet is in continuous flush, the floor is also a deep puddle, and the sloping shower floor is simply dangerous when I need a shower. Oh, and there's a constant drip of water via the ceiling from the people above me. It's not very nice.

Otherwise, my room is fine, and someone changes my sheets and sweeps the room out for me once a week, so it's not all bad. I have bonded with the other teachers quite well, and so I am looking forward to sharing a few drinks with them later today. Also, this is a fairly beautiful area, and there's a nice river flowing past which is great for swimming. A man-made beach at one point along the river makes for a lovely spot... or at least it's a lovely spot when the mosquitoes are at bay and when I'm not being hounded either by bees flying in figure-eights or by blasted horse flies. The horse flies have taken chunks out of my skin on several occasions which made me bleed, but aside from this small initial sting, I don't find their bites to be too distressing. Also, I find my mosquito bites to be quite mild. They seldom itch much at all and I don't have to worry about applying anti-itching cream to them.

This last week was a tad difficult because I came down with something that gave me rather serious constipation. Having a mild cough also led to a mild temperature, and together these things kept me in bed for most of the week (except for when I was teaching). I went two days without eating and at one point I was violently sick. Also, I couldn't stop burping for some reason, which made it difficult to sleep for very long even when I needed to. Still, on a scale of one-to-ten, comparing the sicknesses I have had in my life, it wasn't too bad and could probably only rate as a 'two'.

Otherwise, camp has been great. I have two new classes: one's an elementary group of eleven and twelve year-olds; and the other's a group of seven extremely sweet, pretty and intelligent fourteen and fifteen year-old girls. Both groups are great, but I especially love teaching the seven girls. They're probably smarter at fourteen than I was at eighteen - but then that's girls for you. Both classes love the different English games I teach them and they're a pleasure to teach.

Feeling a lot better yesterday (thanks to the laxatives I was taking), a couple of other teachers and I braved the Russian transport system to travel to the near-by towns of Vladimir (which we only passed through) and Suzdal. Suzdal is part of Moscow's "Golden Ring" of cities and it seemed to have an Orthodox church in every direction. We also went to two restaurants and had a nice time eating real food.

To be honest, Suzdal didn't impress me much at all. Simply having a whole bunch of recently built or renovated churches about the place doesn't do much for me. Nor was I much taken by the outdoor markets of unnecessary junk - small wooden weapons, candles, Lenin or Putin key-rings, and other such bits and pieces. Still, it was nice to get out and to see something more of Russia. Some of the little houses along the road as we walked back to our bus stop were quaint. One of my companions theorised that they must all be different, bright colours to compensate for dreary, white winters. In his country, Italy, houses are normally light tones perhaps because the bright weather allows for many natural colours (I'm guessing: trees, birds, etc).

Naturally, we had a lot of fun with the transport system. Babushki poked and kicked, fighting to get past along the congested isles of buses, never thinking of simply asking for space. Waiting at the bus terminal in Vladimir for our return bus to Pokrov, the unhelpful ticket lady told us that we couldn't book tickets. Instead, we had to stand around waiting for the bus driver of each bus to tell us whether there was room for us or not. With there being no room on the first bus, we had to wait to meet the bus driver of the second, but we weren't allowed to simply book a seat for the third. Then the second, followed by both the third and fourth bus drivers also rejected us. The ticket lady just shrugged, offered no suggestions or alternatives, and largely ignored us. Finally after about ninety minutes it was a kind local man who told us that perhaps we could ask the driver of a bus going directly to Moscow whether he would drop us off in Pokrov along the way. This he allowed us to do, but we had to pay full fare to Moscow - which nevertheless isn't expensive on the Russian transport system.

The following is an amalgamation of emails from the period shortly after my operation. As I have stated, additional comments are made in dark blue.


Tuesday 12 - Saturday 16 July (an amalgamation of emails)

With the wound running past my bellybutton opening up on the Friday, by about the next Wednesday it was doing much better. The infection has now gone completely, as far as I can tell, but I am waiting for a hole in my skin the size of my bellybutton - and one that goes all the way down and into my tummy fat - to close up. I have been waiting for a few more stitches to help the healing process along, but perhaps doctor Stas (Stanislav), who mainly takes care of me now, is waiting to see how well it will close up by itself. I am fairly sure that it will leave a pretty big scar either way. Meanwhile, my old, pus-filled tube hole seems to have finally closed up with congealed blood. In other words, I'm well on the mend.

Back again the next day, and every day after that, I was happy to let her clean my room, but I kept a careful eye on her. One day she insisted on putting my rolls of toilet paper, which were sitting in a black plastic bag, next to the toilet. This meant the bag was also next to the rubbish bin. A day or two later, I noticed too late that my toilet rolls had gone out with the trash. Henceforth, every day at the very least I would battle with her not to move all my things out of reach, or not to open the windows or remove my blanket from across my legs when I was shivering with a temperature; and every day, despite the inconvenience she caused me, she left me in higher spirits. The coup de grace came three or four days ago when I had observed her paying particular attention to my trousers. She picked them up, shook them about, and out dropped everything from money to my mobile phone onto the floor. "Thank you", I said in Russian, and again I shooed her away. But when I was on the toilet I heard someone come into and then leave my room, and when I left the toilet and searched for my pants, I couldn't find them. I looked everywhere two or three times before I decided that my wonderful cleaning babushka must have them. So, I went down to see Dr. Stas, and using his English-to-Russian computer program I wrote something like: "I know this is silly, but the cleaning lady has taken my trousers". I had half expected a vacant look or a shrug of the shoulders - after all, what could I expect him to do? - but he reacted promptly. He and one of the nurses then marched down to the cleaning babushka's 'room' and started yelling at her in Russian. Obviously, nothing was terribly new. As she shrugged her shoulders and generally looked bewildered, Stas and the nurse set about over-turning all the chairs and cushions and what-not. We eventually found my trousers in one of the rubbish bins. I had only bought them a week before going on my children's camp, they were still in perfect condition, and here she was throwing them out. We all had a good laugh over that.

Dr. Michael from Moscow tells me how much he earns per month: A measly $200 US. Foreign teachers earn five times that, factoring in bonuses, and accommodation and travel allowances, etc. Dr. Michael, a specialist children's doctor with something like eight years' study behind him, earns his $200, but he doesn't get accommodation or travel allowances, and the like. (Another doctor friend in Poland, Marcin, also told me that doctors earn very little there.) So Stas, Micha, Michael, Marcin, and all such doctors are heroes! I don't know how they do what they do - Michael's parents were doctors, and so were his grandparents - but I give them my full respect. The amount of work they do is incredible. Just observing them is enough to make my time in a Russian hospital seem worth while. It has been an amazing experience.

Still, I am not the first foreigner that they have had here in Pokrov hospital. This time last year a black, Californian businessman based in Moscow was driven out to the Pokrov region by members of the mafia who had wanted, according to the newspaper article, one million dollars American from the man. This was more money than he was able or prepared to give. The Pokrov police found him lying half dead somewhere. From his left hand he completely lost his pinky and the figure next to it. From his right hand he lost his thumb and index finger. They chopped all these fingers clean off. They also took both his little toes. Not a very nice experience for the poor man.

Also, Pokrov has a history. When Moscow hosted the Olympic Games in 1980 she could be fairly confident that there wouldn't be too much crime. Prior to the Games, the Russian Militsia (police) rounded up a great many known criminals and expelled them from the city. They weren't allowed to come within one hundred kilometres of Moscow. As Pokrov is almost precisely that distance from Moscow, quite a few know criminals moved into this city. Even now, people from neighbouring towns and cities (like Vladimir, Natasha tells me) think of Pokrov as a town of criminals, although apparently it is considerably better these days. Happily for Pokrov, she can now also boast of having a fairly famous chocolate factory in the area, and so I'm looking forward to trying Pokrov chocolate.

I'm able to get out and about during the days now. So long as I'm back in the evening and ready for bandage changes in the morning, everyone's happy. Oh, and on the odd day they still like to poke me with their needles; but it's only at most twice daily and that's no bother. But there is one nurse who makes me laugh because she thinks I'm a needle-wuss, I suppose, and so she has taken to poking the things into me as slowly as possible - so that my skin compresses under the needle until finally the resistance is enough for the needle to break the surface of my skin and ram through. I am too amused to really feel it. Then she injects me full of antibiotics with just a little bit more force than is comfortable.

I'm meant to be writing about getting out and about, aren't I? Well, last Sunday I had a fantastic meal with Stas and Misha and their wives at Stas's house. On Monday and Tuesday, from memory, I just kicked around the hospital, but I went for walks outside. In the last few weeks I've read three novels: "The Amber Spyglass", "The Chimney Sweepers Son", and "The Unbearable Lightness of Being". This last one, by Milan Kundera, was especially good (he writes directly to the reader, and the way he psycho-analyses his own protagonists is particularly interesting); but the point is that I mainly spent Monday and Tuesday reading. On Wednesday I thought to myself, "No one's told me I can't leave the hospital", and so feeling fit enough to do so I went for a walk around the small town of Pokrov. Not particularly interesting, but nice to be walking about in this pleasant summer, even if my tummy, with all it's bandages, does poke out and make me look to all the nice girls as if I have an odd pot-belly. Misha and Stas happened to see me as they were driving past, and they looked quite surprised, but not annoyed. I told them that I was walking down the street in search of a restaurant. I found a nice wee cafe - to which I have been since and to which I hope to return this evening - and there I indulged in a steak lunch with borsch (beetroot) soup and fries as a side dish. I also had a few bottles of Coke, having been allowed no fizzy drinks the whole time in hospital. Sitting there, enjoying the sun and reading one of my history books (which I've been working on for several months now), I was surprised when Stas tracked me down and joined me for a coke. After a while he said, "let's go". I made an expression and various grunts to the effect that I'd sooner stay there for the afternoon than return to the hospital, but he promised we wouldn't go to the hospital. (This was before the car-crash victims came.) We drove around a bit, then he drove us to the lake, then he picked up his wife (Tanya) and daughter (Ania) and we went back to the lake, and then again I had dinner at his house with his family. Once more, three shots of Putinka chili vodka.

On Saturday I did nothing. For about four hours I sat on a bench in a park surrounded by litter and read a book. For an alarmingly long time some old babushka seemed to be following me. I returned to the hospital early in the evening, finished my book, thought a bit about what I'm to do with my life, and went to sleep before midnight. On Sunday I spent most of the day working on this update, and then I treated myself again to borsch and steak at my favourite Pokrov cafe.


Monday 25 July

I'm recovering well. I'm still in the hospital (three weeks tomorrow) and it looks certain that I'll be here at least until the weekend. It's all because of that blasted infection. I now have a hole the size of my bellybutton immediately beneath my bellybutton. Gruesome! I am waiting for this to close up. Today they taped the hole together (the effect being similar to stitches), and so I'm getting there. On Thursday Dr. Misha is taking me to the hospital in Moscow for another scan. They are being extremely thorough, which is good.

In fact, I'm probably having a better time in the hospital at the moment than I would have back in Zelenograd. Of course I miss my friends there - I'm looking forward to a big party when I get back - but here I have made friends also, I have virtually unlimited use of the Internet (and I'm happy when I can easily work on my site), and I'm near to places like Vladimir that would normally be more difficult for me to visit. As the doctors allow me now to leave the hospital during the day, I am hoping to go on a trip to Vladimir on Wednesday to meet Natasha (one of the girls whom the school sent to visit me daily). To make this trip from Zelenograd takes hours and hours each way.

"I would like to compliment you on your website--a very fun read!", and "...major kudos on your journal!", wrote Charlotte from Colorado, USA

"I accidentally stumbled upon your website.... I found the site quite interesting. In fact, it was interesting enough for me to want to comment on its contents, as you can see. Generally, I find that your description of Poland is not only very thorough, and reasonable, it not only shows how perceptive you ... are, but it also is written in an easy-to-read, entertaining way, with "light" style. It's just plain fun to read.", wrote Michael from Poland

Also, it was a good idea for me to start writing book reviews on amazon.com. Before leaving for camp I had completed just 24 reviews, and already I have received 67 'helpful votes'. This means that my reviews have been read and appreciated 67 times; maybe by 67 different people. I can safely assume that others have read them too who didn't bother to 'vote' - as I, myself, only vote perhaps ten per cent of the time, being when a review particularly grabs me. The reason this is good is because it advertises my site, and I hope this will start to generate traffic. Putting oneself out to the world as I do is not for everybody, but I do it because my greatest dream is to one day be a respected writer, and this ain't going to happen if I don't write and then put my writing out there. Perhaps when I'm older I will write fiction (I hope: historical fiction) based on my experiences from around the world, but at the moment I'm in the experience getting stage, and it makes sense in my mind to write about these experiences on my website.

Well, that's all for now, but another update should be up within two or three weeks, so don't forget to return periodically. I've been having an amazing experience, and there's sure to be more neat things to come. A Kiwi friend, Antony, is coming to visit me in a few weeks, and so that should make for some interesting adventures and excellent times.

From here, proceed to Russia IV