CONTENTS
| Russia I | Russia II | Russia III | Russia IV |
My Russian hospital experience lasted from 05 to 27 July, bringing the total experience up to around three weeks and a day. Naturally enough, hospitals keep people up until the point when they can safely continue healing at home, not until they have completely finished healing, and so I still had a lot of recovering to do after my release. Even now I continue to have some way to go. My tummy remains swollen and the wounds look considerably worse than they did in the photo provided for my last update. This is partly because the wound that opened up when my infection burst was enough in itself to leave a nasty scar (I may well have a second bellybutton for the rest of my life). As well as this, the main cuts in the photo appear to be just thin lines, but today scar tissue has built up around the cuts making them look considerably more severe. The stitch marks have faded a little (they will probably remain scars as well for some while), but with my tummy swollen up as it is, the over all effect would put me in the contest for having one of the ugliest tummies on the planet. Shotgun and/or burn victims would certainly beat me in this contest though, and then I am fairly sure that things will be at least fifty per cent improved within another year. The swelling, I hope, will go down, for one thing.
Anyway, on the Wednesday I was released I went to stay for a night with my friends at the Sosnovybor camp. It was nice to see some of them again; but at the same time I couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious of the fact that my leaking wounds made a mess of my shirt and pants in a way that might not carry over as well as it did when I was in hospital. In front of the kids I rather felt like a filthy homeless person, and still my tummy was huge and I had to move about like an old man. But the teachers were very kind and understanding to me and I felt quite cheerful when we later shared a few beers until the wee hours.
On the next day I was driven back to Zelenograd. My driver could take a few lessons in passenger comfort and road safety. He had his eyes focused in the car as much as out of it, constantly fidgeting about with things as he was, and often urgently applying the breaks as he looked up to discover that the car in front of us was now uncomfortably close. He is also one of those drivers who cannot bring the car to a comfortable stop, but instead must constantly touch and release the breaks as he slows down so that his passengers feel as if they're on some kind of circus ride. I suspect a lot of his passengers feel nauseous because of such driving.
I had a fantastic first week in Zelenograd. For a start, all my best friends were there for me. I spent an evening drinking with Masha and her best friend Natasha. They said they would introduce me to Natasha's younger sister, Zhenya, and this worked out well. On the Friday, I went into Moscow with Masha and we met up with Tal (one of our English English teachers, and now a good friend) and we had a decent time exploring the Moscow Zoo. (Not a bad zoo, either, with reasonable space and comfort provided for the animal inmates.) We then went to one of Moscow's most decent night areas, Gogol, where we drank beers, ate some good food, and chatted about our recent experiences. (Being in considerable discomfort at one point, I was also forced to dress my leaking wounds in the bathroom. Not a nice sight for rather a few gentlemen and one lady who had occasion to enter.)
On the Sunday (31 July), I met Masha and Tal early in the morning at the bus stop to Moscow. After a small wait, Natasha and her nineteen year old sister, Zhenya, joined us. We all hopped on the bus together and thirty or so minutes later we were at Rechnoy Voxsal, the outer underground stop on the green line of the Metro to Moscow. There, we met up with Dan, Tal's flatmate from Boston, America (and whom I had met on Friday at Gogol) and soon we were on a boat cruising down the Moscow River. We had great weather, and two hours later we had gone far enough down river for the boat to pull over. We spent another few hours drinking beside the river (and a few went swimming) before again we enjoyed the boat trip back to our berth in Moscow. We then ate ice-creams at a bar near to the jetty before Zhenya and I bussed back to Zelenograd together.
For the next week, Zhenya (a student of Management at a university near to Zelenograd) and I spent a fair bit of time together, and things went very nicely. On the Wednesday Masha and I met my doctor friend, Michael, in Moscow. We visited Victory Park and explored the WWII war memorial and museum together. Then we had a meal and a few drinks - first some Hefe Weisen at an over-priced attempt at a German bar, and then some Russian beers at a near by restaurant. That night I stayed over at Michael's, and we went together to his hospital the next morning so that he could give me a full ultrasound. At that time I was considerably worried about the size of my swollen tummy, thinking that perhaps it was going to burst with another infection, but more concerned that it would never really go down. After a thorough check, Michael was able to reassure me. Still there is some pus and water under my skin, and otherwise there is general inflammation as a result of all the trauma my tummy suffered in the hospital. This is also true at the time of writing, but my tummy feels a little smaller now.
On Friday the 5th I met Anthony at the airport and therein began an adventurous nine days. On Friday night we drank with all my friends in Zelenograd. As the night wore on we went for a dance at the Polinome nightclub, which plays dance music and some hip-hop. Some of Anthony's moves will surely be remembered by my gang for months to come. He ended up topless and he had no shortage of girls hanging off him. (Anthony's girlfriend need not worry, however, as he was faithful the whole time - I promise!)
The weather was nice - which is more than can be said for some of the people in the area. I have seen very little violence in Russia (less, quite possibly, than I might find in my own home city on an average weekend), but what we saw that day was quite disturbing. Not far from us we had observed a couple having an argument for some while. He would have been pushing his forties, she was perhaps ten or fifteen years younger, and caught up in it all were their friends and their toddler daughter. All of them looked very lower class (an observation I make not so much as a judgement, but in order to be fair to the average Russian that I see about me each day, that this might not become a stereotype for Russians as a whole). Anyway, the couple had moved about sixty metres away when things turned nasty and they began taking shots at one another's heads. We looked on in amazement, expecting to see someone close by run in to break it up, but no one about us made any such moves. We watched on in disbelief as the irate man head-butted his equally irate partner to the ground, and that was more than Anthony and I were prepared to tolerate (foreigners or otherwise). We ran towards the man as fast as my swollen tummy would permit me. Not a fun attack to contemplate making, as I've seen women turn on their rescuers in defence of their partners; and then the militsia might not take too kindly to foreigners fighting locals and interfering in Russian matters.
At about seven metres away, with the man now kicking his (let's assume) wife, and with me being resolved to stop this no matter what, I was tunnel-visioned to anything other than my target in front of me. Would I kick him down, or punch his head, or tackle him? I didn't know, but he had to be stopped. Would he be some tough ex-marine, slight in frame as the bully was, and proceed to kick two Kiwi asses? Luckily, I didn't have to find out, as finally some young Russian men had also decided that it had gone too far, and they - beating us by several metres - came charging down on the man with all the force of rugby forwards. The first guy slammed into the wife-beater and sent him to the ground below my feet. I concluded that this wasn't my fight as I watched this first guy then kneel on the bully's neck to effectively immobilise him. The others crowded round and rained punches on the bloke for several long seconds. Scared of the bloodbath that would have been expected in my own country, Anthony and I helped those not punching or kicking to break things up a bit and the situation cooled down. Husband and wife agreed to fight no more, and they went off to conduct their argument in quieter tones. Anthony and I just marvelled at how little everyone had done before the head-butt. Not five metres away another group of guys looked on in apparent amusement.
On Monday we went to Red Square, drank beer on a park bench outside the Kremlin as we watched beautiful Russian girls walk past, and later met up with some friends at a beer garden at Tverskya. This time we had a few beers, then we walked around a near-deserted Arbat, before heading back for another early night.
On Tuesday we went first to Red Square, where again we were unsuccessful in getting to visit Lenin, and then we arranged and paid for train tickets to Sankt Peterburg. It was over 1200 rouble ($60 NZ) each for a bed in a compartment for four, but when we caught the train just after 12.30am we could look forward to a good night's sleep before arriving in Russia's most European city and one of Europe's most amazing cities. We could have had it cheaper if we had booked a day or two earlier, and we could have paid for a cheaper 'sleeper', but thems the joys of travelling and you lose some and win others (as we were to do).
I can be seen just to the left in this photo looking down the main avenue of the Exhibition Centre.
29 August 2005 Travel
Anthony & I. [Click to enlarge.]
Got out of hospital, caught up with some excellent friends, then Anthony came and we had a blast around both Moscow and Sankt Peterburg. Here's how it all went.
Zhenya & I, with Zhenya's friend, Lena, standing to the left.
On Saturday we woke up late and I cooked us some spaghetti bolognaise for lunch. Later we met up with almost everyone and walked down to the lake to enjoy together a few cocktails (the Russian word for any canned beverage other than beer, such as Rum & Coke).
With this story now to be seen on my website, I want to reinforce my caveat above that over-all I have seen very little violence in Russia. Like vodka, I have seen much less of it than movies and stereotypes had possibly lead me to expect. When I have seen violence - this, and the story of the black business man who lost five fingers and two toes to the mafia - it has been brutal; but normally I see very little aggression from day to day. In Christchurch (my home town) for example, there is very little antagonism during the day, but walk around the centre or go night-clubbing after about 11pm, and I think there is a very obvious vibe of aggression. Three twenty-year-old males will walk past one bloke at this time of night, and frequently one of the three feels compelled to slam shoulders with the loner. This may seem minimal - perhaps it suggests a lower degree of more serious violence than a society where such trivial things wouldn't happen when it could likely lead to knives or guns - but my point is that I don't see even that in Russia. Of course I keep away from gangs of youth when it is dark, but I have walked the streets of a few Russian towns and cities after dark now, and never has anyone (other than babushka) intimidated me by getting into my space or barging into me. Similarly, at clubs and nightclubs, I don't have to worry - as an average size male - about every third larger male wanting to demonstrate his physical dominance over me, and every third smaller male wanting to challenge me in case I should think I'm dominant over him. Fairly or otherwise, this is how I feel at many night-clubs in New Zealand, but when I go out around Russia I don't sense such general animosity. As I pondered above, this may reflect something more sinister - it's unwise to mess with guys whose idea of fighting typically leads to hospitalisation or worse - but for whatever reason this manner of not starting small fights for small reasons is something that I like about Russia.
With our time in the park being pretty much our Saturday evening - we later went back to Masha's place for a few hours - on Sunday it was Pasha's birthday, and the boy wanted to go tenpin bowling. So it was a day with Anthony, Pasha, his lover, Lena, and Zhenya and I. Later, Anthony and I caught busses and trains to Borovitskya, Moscow (just near the Kremlin), where I had arranged through my school a room with two beds for the both of us for $12.50 US each per night. We went out for a small walk that evening, ate rather decent Turkish kebabs (and I say this as an ex-kebab chef), drank nothing alcoholic, and retired early that we might be up bright and early the next day.
A metro interior in Moscow. [Click to enlarge.] In the next image (below right) we stand in front of an example of the statues and sculptures to be found at various Metro stations.It is true that the Metro stations in Moscow are amazing. Some especially neat ones that we visited include many of those on the circular 'brown line', with Novoslobodskaya, Prospekt Mira, Komsomolskaya and Kurskaya being particularly notable. Each of these stations is done to a different theme or style. One has life-size bronze statues of Soviet working class heroes striking dramatic poses on all four corners of every pillar. All of them have exceptional murals lining the ceilings, but in some stations they are surely high-class works of art. Another has stain-glass murals against the pillars, with details and colours to challenge many a church.
Often, when turning along a passage between one station and the next, one can find massive statues of working class heroes, or of poets, authors or artists, or of favoured Soviet politicians. It must be believed by any reader who has not heard about Moscow's Metro or seen it for themselves that this train system is like no other in the world. These are not stations with square angles, four walls, a floor and a ceiling, and some moderately impressive ornaments. Most stations are like the magnificent interiors of grand buildings or palaces. Given that a passenger may stay on the system indefinitely for less than a dollar, I will go so far as to say that the Moscow Metro is a must see for any tourist, no matter how short their time in the city.
Later that day Anthony and I just sat down in the equally impressive Tverskaya station and made sport of watching Moscow's incredible women walk past. I was wrong so many months ago when I thought Russian women weren't so hot… They're incredible! As I watch a beauty walking in one direction, my head barely turns twenty degrees when already another beauty equally deserving of attention demands that I follow her progress in the other direction. We sat content with this for about thirty minutes, but I think any longer would have threatened our sanity.
We spent two full nights and 2.5 full days in Sankt Peterburg. (We were aiming for a third full day, but it was a matter of train schedules, etc, that forced us to leave in the middle of our last day.) The first thing we did after arriving at around 9am was head to McDonalds for breakfast. This gave us time to plan things a little more carefully. Later finding ourselves on Peter's main street - the locals refer to the city as 'Peter' - we were approached by a young university student named Katia who was hoping to sell us a bus tour around the city for 550 rouble ($25+ NZ) each. Thinking that this was a bit much and about to decline, she then offered the 'Russian' tour (what the Russians pay) for a much more affordable 150 rouble. Although, as anticipated, we gained nothing from the Russian commentary along the journey, it was still well worth getting this first initial glimpse of the city by bus. It also stopped in several prime locations, giving us a good perspective on where everything was, and giving us a broad view of Peter as a city. We were much impressed by her grand European architecture (which I thought somewhat resembled the architecture in Budapest) and it was a couple of hours well spent.Standing outside the Hermitage.
After the tour we had lunch at Subway and then walked around for a bit to take in Kazan Cathedral and also the Church on Spilled Blood. Meeting up with a Texan named Arnab (who may have been of Middle-Eastern stock, but it never came up), we had a beer at a cafe while I phoned around trying to get a good deal on a dorm room. (We stayed both nights at St Petersburg Puppet Hostel, which was located not far away.) Then later that night we met up to try out an Armenian restaurant together.
To be frank, it was not all that good, and it was far more expensive than I would have liked. For an entree we wanted to try beef brains. Our waitress brought us what seemed more to me like large beans than beef brains, but she kept on telling us that they were 'beef brains'. My entree serving of beans cost in excess of ten dollars (NZ). When it came to our main course, I was the lucky one. It seemed similar to short noodles mixed with meat and spices, and it was quite nice and something new for me. I enjoyed it along with my pricey Armenian beer; but I didn't worry at the expense so much because it was a wonderful chance to try a new kind of ethnic cooking, and then we have to live it up occasionally also. It was the others who, in my opinion, were a little hard done by. They had ordered a delicious sounding plate of spiced meat and veggies accompanied with wheat. What they got was plain and ordinary porridge with a hint of meat and spice mixed in - although neither of these latter ingredients could be seen with the naked eye. Each plate of porridge cost around 350 roubles (or around $17 NZ). They ate their meals with dignity, however, and of course I shared a little of mine.
We walked around for a while after our dinner trying to find a good pub or bar in which to enjoy our evening a bit more. It was not to be, as everywhere we went seemed dead, except for one club outside of which stood extremely young looking teenagers and into which we would not go. We said goodbye to Arnab and went home for another fairly quite night.
Anthony & I overlooking a canal.We started the next day by exploring the streets a bit more in search of some good museums. We spent quite a while in the Russian Museum, which was quite large and entirely dedicated to art. In the modern art section Anthony did battle with one zealous babushka because she saw him holding up his camera. In all other parts of the museum, Anthony had been allowed to take photos provided that he didn't use his flash. Perhaps in this section the rules had now changed, but, as I have observed before, babushki only have two levels of speech - quite, and very, very loud - and so where a quiet word and a gesture would have sufficed, she instead compelled herself to almost leap at my friend and fight him for his camera. Naturally enough, Anthony was not too taken by this, and so he laughed at her and spoke back equally loudly in English for her to take her hands off him. She then went about the whole floor mouthing the word 'militsia' and telling all other attendants to (I imagine) "be on the lookout for the insolent, laughing, bearded foreigner with the camera". This was my friend's main taste of how dangerous old women in Russia can be.
Our afternoon was much better. We walked around the canals and the Hermitage and areas around the Hermitage for much of the afternoon until again it was time for a Subway snack. Then, as arranged, we met up with Katia - the girl who had sold us the bus tour - and her friend, Masha. With them we were to spend a very pleasant afternoon.
The girls and I walking along the Peter Gardens. Many of these statues were put here during Peter's time, although Masha told me that most of them are now replicas so that the originals may be preserved. [Click to enlarge.]We met in the centre at 5pm and immediately went for a walk to Peter the Great's old Summer Palace and the parks that surround it. Happily, this was a beautiful and sunny day, as both the other days were a little bit miserable, and, according to our guides, Peter only has 41 sunny days every year. And the parks were beautiful and our guides really were guides. Masha has been a guide for four years already, and both are studying at university specifically to be tour guides, for which they study English and German also. This meant that they both have a mental library of information about Sankt Peterburg, and it was fascinating to walk with them as they told us so much about their beautiful city. Having read a biography on Peter the Great myself, we were able to stimulate some interesting conversations. We then enjoyed some beers (the boys) and coffees (the girls) together for about half an hour, at which point the girls surprised us by inviting us to go on a boat tour of the canals with them for free (as certainly they had the means to arrange).
Anthony & I on our boat tour.I had my first taste of post-op exercise as we ran to catch our boat, and then the tour itself was brilliant. We sat bathed in sun as we shared Miller beers, took photos, talked happily about this-and-that, and enjoyed the view as Peter once more unwound before our eyes. The whole tour lasted nearly two hours and it was worth every cent of what we should have paid.
We thanked the girls considerably and offered to buy them dinner. Instead, we all had to separate at this point, as everyone needed to freshen up and change clothes in anticipation of the evening and the dancing ahead of us. We had agreed to spend the evening nightclubbing from 11pm. A night with two very beautiful local girls - as good as two boys from out of town (and country) might expect from their second night in one of Europe's most magnificent cities.
Masha & I above, and Anthony & Katia left.After our time apart, Anthony and I met up with Katia (indeed, a very nice girl) and Masha (whose attitude was now unaccountably sour), and we walked straight to a nightclub named 'Metro'. The club was three stories of different dance venues and bars catering to huge varieties and tastes and - as I may compare with like venues in Australia, Poland and Germany - done exceptionally well by my opinion. Each floor had a room committed to dancing, one playing hip-hop, one international dance, and another Russian dance, but we started off at a very classy looking bar with very professional bartenders. After our first round of drinks, the girls talked us into trying absinth - a drink banned in some countries and severely restricted in many others - and the process by which it was administered did not detract in any way on the potency it already possessed. The bartender lighted and extinguished the toxin three times, getting us each time to inhale its fumes through the nose, and the last time capturing all its fumes in an upside-down glass for us to later inhale after drinking the poison. It went down like fire and stayed down with some difficulty. This was not helped when I was then expected to suck the fumes from the upside-down glass. We quickly paid the bartender and went to the closest dance floor - Russian dance - to let off some energy.
After trying out the upper (international dance) floor for about eight songs, we returned to the middle (Russian dance) floor for me to discover that my passport was no longer in the lower Velcro-secured pocket of my cargo pants. In truth, I had been having an oddly bad day in this way. Before our second meeting, Anthony, Katia and I had shared a taxi home. We initially intended to drop Katia off first, but she later decided to direct the driver to our hostel even though we passed her flat on the way. It was lucky too that she left the car after us, because when I got out - through a system of taps that I perform on myself to check that I have all my usual possessions (glasses, wallet, keys, passport) - I discovered that I had left my wallet in the car. The car was by now out of sight, and so this could have been the end. I quickly phoned Katia (the blessing of mobile phones), and she was able to keep my wallet for me.
Now here I was on that same day without my passport. This is one of the worst situations a traveller can be in in Russia. Without a passport, the militsia most certainly detain all foreigners, taking them back to the cells indefinitely unless or until expensive bribes can be exchanged. (It's 1000 roubles' minimum even for minor inconsistencies over documentation. They'd push for two or three hundred dollars American over this one.) Travelling also becomes nearly impossible, as bus and train stations issue tickets only after inspecting this document. I would be stuck in Sankt Peterburg. I would need to inform the militsia, go through the very expensive and time consuming process of arranging for a new passport, visa and registration stamp, and possibly I wouldn't be allowed to leave for a matter of weeks until all this was finalised. Alternatively, I could try to make it back to Moscow without a passport, but I probably wouldn't even get as far as a ticket, and then if I was inspected along the way I would be in real difficulties. Still, I would have to go through most of the ropes even if I made it back safely, and so tending to be unadventurous in legal respects, I would probably have gone for the former option.
I didn't waste any time in informing my friends of my embarrassing situation, and so the girls were immediately helpful in informing the nearest security person of my problem. Perhaps I had been the victim of some clever pick-pocket, I thought - was it the guy who stood close to me at the bar for a while? - but for a second time that day I was very lucky: They had it downstairs. Again, I had put it on the wrong side of my pocket after they inspected my identification at the nightclub doors, and thankfully some honest person had handed it to security. I was so relieved that I was happy to offer a hefty reward, but the girl who returned it to me just waved me away.
Anyway, I don't have to worry about loosing anything again for a while. For one thing, I have learned to be especially careful after making the same very foolish mistake twice in one day. My 'touch system' usually serves me well, but then one can always be more conscious when putting things in their pockets. For another thing, I left behind my old and battered Nokia battery-charger when I left Peter - easily replaced for $12 NZ - and with these things often coming in threes, my string of such luck is over.
I still have a little more to add about the club and our night with two exceptionally high-class Sankt Peterburg girls. Down on the lower (hip-hop) floor, I was astounded to find myself inches taller than almost every other guy. This was not because Sankt Peterburg guys are poorly fed or genetically programmed to have shorter frames. The reason became clear in that horribly alarming manner that frightens the heck out of men whenever we spy beautiful legs, snug in a smashing, close-fitting dress, hugging a prime and curvy body, leading up to and lingering over eye-blasting cleavage, and then - ARHHH, overt mine eyes!!! - the pretty face of an alarmingly young girl!
Okay, so the day before I did see such youngsters lurking outside another nightclub, but this doesn't mean that I consciously expected them to be inside. Never before have I been to an alcohol-serving club that admits people so young, and with this being a new experience, I found myself feeling horribly out of place. Anthony and I danced among them for about twenty minutes, each of us looking like old men by comparison, but saved perhaps only by virtue of being reasonable dances ourselves. I liked the music, but really it was good to get back to the international dance room where we could mingle with people nearer to our own age.
When the night was over we shared a ride back home and said our farewells. On our third day, Anthony and I arose and went straight to the train station with it in mind to secure our passage before spending the rest of our day taking in more sights. Unfortunately, the night train was booked out already - we should have booked a day or two earlier - and so, given Anthony's time constraints, we were forced to leave around lunch time. We had time only to get ourselves a bit of lunch before we said goodbye to Peter's gateway to Europe. However, this wasn't completely to our loss: we had done all we had really planned to do - only, a trip to the naval museum would have been nice - and a daytime train trip through this part of Russia allowed us to get an appreciation on Russia's landscape and countryside that we would have missed on a night passage. We had had a great time, and I thought our journey back was equally worthwhile.
We got back to Moscow quite late, and by the time we were in Zelenograd both of us were quite ready for sleep. Anyway, Anthony had only one full day remaining to explore Russia's capital, and so we wanted to get an early start on the day. Still, we're blokes, getting moving in the mornings is never easy for us (although Anthony considers himself more of a morning person), and so we didn't quite make it to the centre in time enough to visit Lenin. Well, he's just some dead dude, right? Our next stop was near the Tverskaya station, where after some lunch we visited the 'Contemporary History Museum'. This is one of the best museums that I've been to in Russia, as it pretty much hit upon my favourite themes - propaganda photos, Bolshevik paraphernalia, and rooms accounting for soviet history from about the beginning of the century until perestroika and beyond.
At this point Anthony and I split up for a bit so that I could relax with a beer and do some bird watching, and Anthony could go for a Russian banya (like a sauna, but with a good beating by sticks and leaves thrown in), which I felt disinclined to do because of my healing wounds. He found the exact place with some difficulty only to be told that it cost $60 US and there would be no beating. So, we met up sooner than arranged and caught the metro to Vorobyovy Goro, where we climbed a small hill (but big in comparison to all I've thus far seen in Russia), ate some ice-creams, drank some beer, did some souvenir shopping, and generally appreciated the view over much of Moscow. (Oh, it's a nice enough view, but nothing to be compared to the skyline over Sydney, or Hong Kong, or indeed most of the larger cities that I've ever been to.) Later, we took a gondola to the bottom of the hill, where we found a restaurant serving horribly expensive fish for the privilege of dining with plastic knives, forks and plates by the Moscow River. We concluded our day by drinking a few beers on our trip back to Zelenograd, and then, there being nothing really left to add, I saw Anthony off at the airport the next morning.
Pasha told me just recently how once in a restaurant when I had wanted to order sugar for my coffee I ended up asking for 'bitch' (the word in Russian for sugar being sarkar and for bitch being sukar). Anthony did a similar thing which we all found quite amusing. Naturally, I taught him the Russian words for hello, goodbye, thank you, sorry, and so on, but at the same time I couldn't resist teaching him babushka (grandmother), as I had so much to advise him on the matter. We all found it very amusing when Anthony then wanted to thank a pretty young girl at a supermarket checkout, and instead of saying spa-ce-bo bal-shoi (thank you very much), he came out with spa-ce-bo babushka.
There was also the matter of the poor boy's food poising. I don't think the runs really stopped for him after he ate two sausages covered in bacon at the Horse's Ass on Monday. Even in Peter he had the runs so bad that finding a toilet was frequently an emergency, and then he several times made the hostel bathroom a complete No Go Zone.
So, during our nine days together, we had a great time getting up to mischief and in the way of Babushki-In-A-Hurry. Probably one of my favourite moments is best captured in the photo below. We were outside Zhenya's flat, this being the Sunday we went bowling, when we spied a babushka not only replete with plastic shopping bags (as per the side photo) but carrying a very serious looking rifle. And people don't believe me when I tell them how dangerous these elderly war-veteran ladies can be. They did their fair share towards defeating Adolf Hitler, don't forget! Where heavily laden shopping bags are effective and deadly weapons at close range, this babushka obviously feels that something with potential over greater distances is necessary. We approached very cautiously - open gestures, no sudden movements, respect written all over our faces - and she was very kind in allowing us to take the following photo (which I include here with her permission).Some babushki come armed to the teeth, carrying shopping bags for short-ranged assaults and rifles for combat over long distances.
[Click to enlarge.]
Anthony & I with the meanest and most professional
class of bodyguard money can buy.
Nevertheless, this brilliant adventure ate into my savings considerably more than I had hoped, but as much as is to be expected during any holiday where travel is a priority. Still, at the time of writing, having just put hundreds of American dollars into a Moscow Bank account, I now have the 1400 British Pounds I need to do the Cambridge DELTA next year. That is my reward for the work I did last year. This year's savings shall go into covering my living costs and so on during the course, and then I am still on target to pay for and complete an additional certificate in teaching young learners (ie, children) later this year. These two qualifications will do wonders for my career.
Since Anthony left I have fairly much taken it easy. Last Monday, I finally went to Vladimir, the town not far from Pokrov where I stayed at the hospital. I did this journey with a teaching friend of mine named Tatiana and we had a lot of fun, but it took six hours to get there from my door, and then six hours to get back again. Luckily, Tatiana makes excellent company and we can talk very well with one another. We explored Vladimir, a capital of Russia eight or nine centuries back, for about seven hours. We met up with Natasha - the kind girl who visited me daily while I was in hospital - explored several museums on the main street, and generally enjoyed walking around and enjoying the view from the little hill on this sunny day. I had a great time, the only downside being that I copped a sting on my finger from a hornet by foolishly trying to swipe it out of my face with a bottle of drink. Luckily, I have no reaction to these things, other than the initial pain (which felt a bit like a quick, sharp cut from something like a razor).
Otherwise, I have had friends over to try my cooking on several occasions (I've cooked Thai Green Curry, Chinese Gong Bao Ji Ding ['Cong Pao Chicken'], bacon pizza, and, just last night, sausage pasta), and at other times we go for drinks in some of the parks around the city. The weather in Russia has been absolutely beautiful, and so we stay away from pubs and clubs. No one pays any attention to the new laws prohibiting drinking on the streets, and so it's nice just to hang about outside on such beautiful evenings.
I am pleased that this update has been generally positive about Russia, as before I went to camp I was feeling rather down about Russian xenophobia, and I would like to make one more positive observation while I'm still on the subject of public drinking. I wrote above about how I find most Russians to be extremely non-aggressive, and the same has been true on such nights. Certainly, we see the odd Russian lad staggering past, having had too much to drink. But we see this no more than we would in any other country. Very occasionally, one might also find an alcoholic nearly in a comma on the pavement somewhere; but again I see this no more frequently than anywhere else. When it comes to normal times, I think it is a really positive thing that most people who drink in the streets avoid drinking too much and generally just keep to themselves. Russians never tend to be loud in public places in any case - people conduct quiet conversations with each other on busses and trains; contrasting sharply with what I saw in China or what I've seen of Americans - and it is nice that when they drink they don't holler the whole time as strangers walk past. Overall, despite their drinking, the atmosphere remains quiet and controlled. Seldom have I seen a stereotype fall so completely on its face, as Russians, when they drink, seldom fall on theirs.
Before I finish this update, I would like to express special thanks to my best Russian female friend, Masha. Without her, I am sure that I would have had a harder time in the hospital. In that first week, with all that I was going through, I still tried to put on a happy face whenever Lisa (my first sitter) visited me in the mornings. Certainly I told her when I needed something in particular, like a change of bed sheets or toilet paper, but otherwise I needed for her visit to be as pleasant as possible. Perhaps because of this, and because the camp staff were afraid to be the bearers of bad news, it seems that the reports to the central school office were maybe a little more positive than they should have been. At least this is what Masha gathered when she phoned the office after visiting me on that first Saturday. She then went to considerable lengths to let them know just how serious the operation had been and to arrange for things to be somewhat more tolerable. She had a hand in getting me my own room and negotiating with the doctors so that I might have use of the Internet. Thanks Masha. A big virtual hug to you!
Otherwise, I had my first classes yesterday, and they all went well. The first two classes were children's groups (using I-Spy 4), the first of which is composed of some fantastic kids from last year, and the second of which is new to me - but they were also very nice. My last group was an adult class of complete beginners. I always enjoy teaching beginners because it's easy to measure their progress. Today I have three more classes. The first is another favourite children's group of mine from the last academic year; the second is a new teenage group for First Certificate English (an advanced course); and the third is a new group of Pre-Intermediate adults. I am very happy about all my classes. It's great to be back.
Why so long? Well, I was a trifle busy with my Young Learners' course, which I officially completed on Sunday; I have been living a rather colourful social life; and then I can't pretend to have had a whole lot of ideas about which I could write.
I'll start with a summary of the last couple of months.
Broke up with Zhenya because I realised I wasn't in love - a shame, because she's in love with me. Started something with a true beauty named Lena, but I broke up with her, with some irony, when I realised she would never be in love with me. Phoned up Kasia, but that didn't work either. Unlucky in love - that's me. Have since met someone else, but I have no idea how she feels about me or where this is going, and so I'll say no more for now.
I have been very happy at work. All the classes that I had such high hopes for at the beginning of the year have been working wonderfully. Last week meant the end of my beginners' class. Three-and-a-half months ago I was teaching them the alphabet, how to count to ten, and how to say, "Hello, my name's [Sergey]. What's your name?". Now they are able to have basic everyday conversations, and we can all keep a discussion going for quite some time. It is because beginners make such obvious progress that they are one of my favourite levels to teach. It is a very rewarding level.
I am still having a lot of fun with my kids' groups. As I have gone into before, I make sure all my classes include a strong focus on grammar (if in the guise of a whole bunch of games), and I see the results. I wrote an essay about my approach in teaching grammar to children for my Young Learners' course, and it earned a distinction. I was very pleased about this, as it's nice to know that my ideas aren't completely renegade.
My First Certificate English class, 14 to 19 year olds, has also been going along beautifully. They are a great bunch of students and I almost feel as if teaching them is just an extension of my social life. Still, it is my job to make them pass a rather difficult exam - the reading test is challenging even to me - and so I work hard to make sure every class has clear learning aims. I have in the last six months been focusing a lot on ways to present and revise vocabulary in my classroom. I have found a whole lot of ideas in books and on the Internet, and I have even developed a few of my own games and techniques. At intermediate levels and above, students frequently feel as if they're getting nowhere even when the classes they attend are intensive, challenging and fun. By giving them new words every day, and by revising and testing these words regularly from lesson to lesson, students at these higher levels can at least look to the fact that they're able to produce more and more vocabulary as an empirical measure of their progress.
The course itself was also extremely helpful. It gave me a whole bunch of new activities and ideas that I was able to bring into the classroom from the very first day, but also it has helped me to understand the method behind the madness. I used to use an activity even if for no other reason than because it worked; but now it's nice to know why it works. Also, because trainees on the course are mainly assessed through actual teaching practice - eg. we prepare and write a detailed lesson plan, we deliver the lesson to actual students, and then our course trainer gives us suggestions for improvement and development during feedback - I also found the course very helpful not only in terms of teaching awareness, but in terms of my own teaching development. My course trainer, Jo, identified areas for me to build on, and as I improve in these areas I know I will become a better teacher. It is good to focus seriously on my teaching in this way, as I need to take the next phase, my DELTA, very seriously. Getting a distinction for my first assignment, and being recognised as very strong with my six-to-ten year olds, meant that I got a Strong Pass for the course over all. I was quite happy with this.
I have put on a little too much weight. My stint in hospital must have eaten away at some muscle (I notice some are missing these days), and it certainly slowed down my metabolism. Since then, I have done virtually no exercise (I haven't had a great amount of time for it), but I have been drinking copious quantities of beer (there's always time for that!). Furthermore, my tummy remains big. If ever it returns to its former shape, it's a long way off. This, and my physical state generally, makes me feel particularly self-conscious when around women. I am surprised that I have had a love life at all. Anyway, now that my YL course is over, I intend to put that time back into an exercise routine; but of course this is easier to write about than to do. Might have to kick things off with a crash diet - something that I was always able to will myself to do.
I still cook regularly. I haven't made my favourite, spaghetti bolognese, for a while, as over the years I have made it more and more elaborate until the point that it's almost too complicated and time consuming to prepare. Now I frequently make a simpler version. I call it my Polish Spaghetti, having created it in Poland. All I do is throw in bacon and a bunch of different sausages, add heaps of chili, onion and capsicum, and then let it simmer in tomato sauce and red wine. Could hardly be easier, but it's very tasty.
I also make a bunch of other dishes, with chicken pizza, salmon and feta pizza, fried rice, chicken and bacon pasta, Sizhuan gong bao ji ding, and Thai green curries being other favourites. I can't find the ingredients, however, to make great dishes like Malaysian luksa or Sichuan sui ju ro pian, as I used to. There are some really nice wee restaurants and cafes around Moscow, however, and so I get to eat pretty well whenever I'm not cooking. I still eat Borscht whenever it's on the menu.
I've been (almost) getting through rather a few books as well. I had nearly finished The Penguin History of Europe by J. M. Roberts when I started Doctor Zhivago. I had nearly finished Doctor Zhivago when I started Post-structuralism - a short introduction; and I had almost finished that when I started Stalin, by Edvard Radzinsky. (This gripping biography is brilliantly written, and I am certain that I will finish this one at least.) Other books that I have recently finished include Berlin, by Antony Beevor, and, of course, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling. I will certainly return to all my unfinished books with time. I guess that some books are to be read in one go, while others are there for when the mood is congenial to the style of writing.
Pulled an old gent out of the snow the other day and took him home to his grateful (?) old lady.
Had a terrific birthday party at my flat on Friday-through-Saturday the 2nd/3rd. It was neat to be with so many good friends.
Thought it very amusing when I went to help one of my fellow-teachers retrieve her house keys from our babushka cleaning woman. With the help of Lena, we drove her to her flat, but she wouldn't let any of us go up to her apartment, nor at the same time would she agree to come back down to give us the keys. Instead, her solution was to throw them from the fifth floor of her building, and she wouldn't have it any other way. I stood there a little anxiously, wondering whether to risk either cutting my hands by trying to catch the keys or losing them in the snow by letting them fall. Thankfully, our cleaning woman had the sense to rap them in paper and aim them away from the snow, and so it worked out okay. Still, she's a funny one.
Had cause to defend myself on Thursday evening; the first time I've ever had to do so as an adult. I was sitting in Ambar with my friends, Mark and Pasha, when some girl approached our table and started talking to us. After a while a rather pretentious looking guy wearing leather gloves (inside!) and showing off a lap-top computer came over and started harassing Pasha by demanding to see his identification. I became unhappy when he started writing Pasha's details down, and so I grabbed hold of the ID and the piece of paper and refused to let go unless an explanation was given. He tried to hit me in the face and so I stood up to meet him and found myself eventually throwing him heavily to the floor. No further punches were thrown, which was good. Other guys rushed over at this point and so I got off him. Mark observed that he was visibly shaking when he packed his lap-top away and allowed himself to be escorted out by a couple of girls. He was still trying to give me face but the two girls were apparently strong enough to hold him back. People warned us that he was going to come back with some heavy friends, and so we thought it prudent to return to our homes at that point. An interesting experience for me, but not one that I wish to repeat. Still, it's nice to know that I don't necessarily have to come out second best at these things.
So that can do for an update for now. I hope to spend some time preparing further observations over the Christmas/New Year holidays, as I'm sure that there is much that I have forgotten to write down just now. I also have an essay planned - something of an introspective - but that will depend on whether I have time. I have a very full social life at present, and so there's less time for sitting at the computer. Sometimes it is better to live life than to write about it.
Web Presence
Today I entered jonny harman into google.com. Of about 106,000 results, I am Google's number one jonny harman thanks to the 27 book reviews that I have written on amazon.com. Now, if some other Jonny Harman could actually become super famous, people searching for this guy might actually find my site.
Another super popular search engine, yahoo's, actually rates my site as number one under jonny harman out of about 49,700 possible results. (Observe, jonny harman is not with quote marks, as a search in quote marks would make the search even more specific, and therefore against fewer alternative results.) On yahoo.com a search for english teacher fuzhou (a fairly possible search for English teachers that are considering teaching in Fuzhou, China) places my site as 15th out of about 13,300 results. That puts me on the second page. I am third of about 720 results for english teacher zelenograd, and second of about 1,660 results for journal zelenograd. My web presence is growing.
Hey, Russia is not as crazy as we in the rest of the world frequently imagine! I told my family not long after the Beslan tragedy that I would be in Russia within a couple of weeks. My mum wrote back to say she had "no concerns about [me] being in Russia. I fully believe that we are all exactly where we're meant to be and God is with us always, including our appointed time to meet him..."; and then she went on to comment on terrorists. So, going to Russia is flirting with death, is it? Terrorists are everywhere, are they? Well, officially, something like 344 civilians were killed in Beslan, as compared with nearly 3000 people who were killed by terrorists in America on 11 September 200. Nevertheless, Mum was happy to travel to America a year or two ago, and yet she writes to me as if I'm going off to war.
Watching Hollywood portrayals of Russians also amuses me considerably. I recall the reaction of the Russian character in one of the Bad Boys' movies when a rival mafia boss delivered the Russian's friend sliced and diced into chunks. The Russian was not intimidated, apparently, because this kind of thing happens every day in his country.
Yeah, right!
I also really enjoyed one of Travolta's and Thurman's latest movies, "Be Cool". The Russian gangster in it was something else. His introduction has him saying 'Das vidania' (goodbye) to Geoffrey Rush, whom he proceeds to shoot and kill. Every shot he fires, bar the killing shot, misses its target and makes a mess of the shop and car in the background. Also with every shot, his toupee flies into the air. Quite a funny scene. Watching it on DVD, I was especially amused to go back and listen to it again with the Russian voice-over. His portrayal was so un-Russian (and, yes, I realise it's comedy) that even his 'Das vidania' was wrong for the occasion. In translation he says, 'Take this - dog'.
A new dear friend of mine, named Olga, also complains about the way people receive her when they find out she's from Russia. She was making friends in London one day with an Australian guy, another guy from France, and some new English people. Everyone was impressed with the guy from France and the Australian, and they wanted to know more wonderful things about their countries. They then asked Olga whether she was from Poland. When she said she was from Russia, everyone went quiet and put on shows of empathy and sympathy. Olga loves Moscow and Russia, and she thinks she has a nice life here. In fact, she thinks her flat is nicer than the people's flat that she was in at the time. She feels frustrated when people assume they should feel sorry for her, the same as I feel frustrated when people associate New Zealand with outdoor plumbing or, even worse, The Lord of the Rings.
With nearly fifteen months behind me now in Russia, I think I have some right to offer insights on what life is like here. I can say that the people are pretty much like anywhere else. They like to have fun, they like to avoid trouble, they like to meet with friends, they like to go out, and so on. Naturally, poorer people here surely have a lower standard of living than poorer people in welfare states like New Zealand, but they can still find time for fun like anyone else. If they can't afford to go drinking and clubbing every weekend, they still enjoy a few drinks with their friends at people's apartments. There is certainly no reason these days to treat people from Russia's more prosperous cities as if they've escaped oppression and poverty. Nor should it be assumed that they are in some way more aggressive or dangerous than the rest of us. I seldom see violence here.
Perhaps it all comes down to a mediocre joke which I thought up myself. The Russian word for 'bill' is 'shot'. 'May I have the bill?' translates as 'Mozhna shot'. So the Russian man, after a nice dinner and a few casual shots of vodka in an American bar, slips back into some Russian slightly when he asks, 'May I have the shot'. The bartender thinks, 'Fair enough. He's Russian'. So he pours the man another shot of vodka, and the Russian drinks it not to be rude, but slips up again by asking for the shot. The process repeats itself many times over as the bartender confirms the stereotype and the poor Russian man politely makes a drunk of himself.
What is it with ex-pats who come to a country and then find themselves avoiding its people? I saw this all the time in China, as I knew plenty of foreigners whose idea of discovering China seemed to be little more than discovering a hatred for its people - apart from, predictably, their one special exception, whom they would take as a lover or even a spouse. Recently I met foreigners in Moscow who have similar prejudices against (esp.) Russian men.
Yes, it can seem that some Russian men are vulgar and racist. [If 'racist' seems like a sweeping generalisation, consider some of these articles on bbc.co.uk.] Every culture has its faults, and there's no point going to a new place if you cannot accept a people's faults just because they're different to the faults of your own culture. I have learned to accept, if not tolerate, racism in my Russian friends, even though I would not accept the same from friends back home. This is because I have been raised in a culture where we are taught to see through racism and to recognise it for what it is. I therefore expect friends from New Zealand to have similar opinions to my own. On the other hand, my Russian friends have not been raised in this way. If it is right for me to want them to be less racist, then I won't achieve this by avoiding them. It is better to accept them and hope that my ideas will brush off in some kind of positive way.
And so I like making friends with Russian people, girls and boys alike. Most of them are not too racist. Most of them like Germans, some of them like Poles, many of them appreciate black people because of their image in the music industry. Most of them cannot stand Caucasians (no, not white people; people from the Caucasus) - forgetting, of course, that it was Russian people who went into their countries, forcibly imposed communism, Stalinism, and the Terror, and shipped hundreds-of-thousands of them off to die in Siberian gulags. Now some of them come here looking for a better life from a country that owes them so much, and as no one will give them a job for having darker skin, they are forced into lifestyles that only reinforce Russian people's negative opinion of them. But to whatever degree my Russian friends come across as racist, all my friends are good people, the same as I'd like to think that many of my ancestors were good people even if they came from a time where racism was normal and unconsidered as a concept. Happily, at its worst, I can still say that my friends' racism is relatively mild, and so it's not as if I'm associating with skinheads or anything.
Back to my point, if you find a culture to live in which is different enough to your own, then you will surely find some negative things about it. Still, what's the point of being in such a country if you're not interested in becoming friends with some of its people? Part of understanding culture is surely about learning to look beyond a few frustrating cultural differences so as to get the most out of the positive side of a people's culture.
Olga and I in Red Square on our second outing together
This can be brief. I had a good New Year's Eve party. My good friend Pasha, and my friends and colleagues Mark and Misty came to my flat to start with, but then we decided that we'd have more fun at a nightclub. The club we went to cost us 800 ruble to enter, but it was worth it and we had a really good time. Everyone there was cheerful and friendly. At about 2am we went back to my flat, where we were joined by Olga and her friend, Daria. It was well after 4am before we called it a night.
Welcome in to 2006, my friends. May this year be one of good times and worthy accomplishments.
02.09.2005: Anthony finally took the worst of my tummy photos off his site (Crikey Dick mate!), so I can now link my site to his for those who want to view more photos of our time in Moscow and St. Pete's. See his front page here, or go direct to either photos of Moscow or St. Pete's.
24 December 2005 General
Love
Work & Study
Health
Hobbies
Events of Interest
04 January 2006 Oh, The Poor Russians!
Oh, The Poor Russians!
Ex-Pat Chauvinism
From here, start Russia I,
or proceed to South Korea;
or skip Korea and continue
with my return to Moscow:
Russia V