A spoonful of sugar...

New Year was spent visiting relatives in Russia. Lily's parents are likely to move from her hometown this coming year and, with it being a few years since we were last there for the biggest celebration of the year, a trip for family, festivities and nostalgia seemed too good to miss.

As you expect at that time of year, food and drink were in abundance.

New Year Meal

Far removed from my usual diet (low fat, low sugar, low meat); if it was in front of me, I consumed it with great pleasure... Russian sausage, pelmeniy, cheese, salads swimming in soured cream, khachapuri [see below], pizzas, sweets (and one or two drinks).

Khachapuri...

The result was dramatic...

Dances with Wolves

The day started a lot like any other… well, maybe not. It was Tuesday – the only day I had morning lessons so the only day I got up early. 8.30am and it’s for 45 minutes. Bugger! Following the normal Tuesday pattern, with the lesson finished, I was off to the internet café.

Let me take you back further. I took a Lincoln City hat with me. It was a black ski-hat with the team name in red italics. I'd lost it about three months ago – I even knew when… the night we all went to Igor’s workplace to see how he makes neon signs. After that, never seen again until…

keeping abreast of the information

As a native speaker English teacher, you're prepared for all kinds of questions about the language and sometimes really having to get into the nitty-gritty, nit-picking nuances of language use but nothing prepared me for a most surreal debate involving senior staff.

Tales: contractual problems #1

Samuel Goldwyn is supposed to have said, "A verbal contract isn't worth the paper it's written on." In Russia, the same could often be applied to a written one.

You've got the contract, it doesn't mean you're going to get the cash...

I worked in EFL, teaching English to people who have a different first language. It's fair to say that this profession can attract one or two oddballs, who may not fulfill their part of a contract. Equally, the language school where I worked in Russia did not always deliver on its promises.

Indestructible?

Adler, Russia, 2011

Indestructible?

I'm currently reading Bill Bryson's The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, an autobiographical account of him growing up in the US in the 1950s. It's an enjoyable read and humorous in a gentle, self-effacing way that seems in keeping with such an anglophile. Anyway, enough of that tangent... so, I'm sure you're wondering why someone writing about Russia would mention 50s America. This short extract made me think of two periods of my life:

Happily, we were indestructible. We didn't need seat belts, airbags, smoke detectors, bottled water or the Heimlich manoeuvre. We didn't require child safety caps on our medicines. We didn't need helmets when we rode our bikes or pads for our knees and elbows when we went skating. We knew without written reminding that bleach was not a refreshing drink and that gasoline when exposed to a match had a tendency to combust. We didn't have to worry about what we ate because nearly all foods were good for us: sugar gave us energy, red meat made us strong, ice cream gave us healthy bones, coffee kept us alert and purring productively. (pp105-106)

 

It transported me back to two times in my life... the first period was when my face was as bald as my forehead is now, in the UK twenty-odd years ago... days when I used to play outside, jump off walls without thinking about how my knees would cope with the impact, whizz down the road on my scooter and climb trees blissfully unaware of the possibility of falling.

The other time was...

baby food

The Director of Studies and I had to interview a five-year old with a view to her having lessons. The little girl, having lived in Boston, USA, for 2 years had an impressive level of English for her age. Also there were her mother and 6-month old sister. Using a book for prompts, she was asked about her favourite food - burgers. Then Helen asked, “Does your sister like burgers?”

The Smell

I could smell it. Walking around our 8th floor flat, there was a definite smell. I was walking around the flat, in that manner unique to locating an odour - head up, neck stretched, nose jutting out, like a feeding chicken stuck on peck.

could be a chicken; could be me sniffing in search of a smell

Tales of Fire #1

Some of the teachers had been out for a drink or two and got back in late. Two colleagues, Ian and Tim, had already fallen asleep in the lounge and I went to bed . The excitement for the night was not finished, though I didn't know it until the following morning.

 When I got up, Ian recounted the drama thus:

Tales of the Russian Post Office #2

The Russian Post Office can be a mixed bag. Sometimes they go the extra miles and then some; other times...

You can always visit their website, if you're prepared to wait.

Tales of Russian Banks #1

One day, three intrepid teachers ventured into a bank in search of travellers cheques - even then an anachronistic means of cash transfer, but the best way for us in Russia in 2006. We left feeling lucky to escape with our lives...

Football: CSKA Moscow v Spartak Moscow (24/09/05)

I'd worked in Russia a year before I got to see my first match over there.

The Dinamo Stadium's imposing floodlights in the background.

Tales of the Russian Post Office #1

Russia... why queue anywhere for 10 minutes when you can wait for over an hour? I'm beginning to suspect that if there were bread queues in the Soviet Union, it wasn’t for the lack of it but for the inefficiency of people serving.

Russian Superstitions

In my early days in Russia, a friend, Vadim, called me to invite me over. Soon outside his flat. I rang the bell and the door opened. I had already learnt that the standard greeting between men is to shake hands. I duly extended my hand. He looked at it, then at me, “Come in.” I left my hand outstretched but quickly understood that the gesture was not about to be reciprocated. I was confused and wondered if and how I’d offended him. I got inside, unnerved, removing my outdoor shoes in the house, as is usual. Vadim then grabbed my hand and shook it enthusiastically. I was baffled. The explanation was a superstition, which I’ll explain, along with some others I’ve experienced.

An animated version of a domovoi, a character of superstitions, from a Russian film