Sunday 29 September 2013

Go Wild In The Country

I seem to have developed two catchphrases.

1. “What the Jeff is going on?”

My repetition of this phrase has come about for the simple reason that there exists a fundamental lack of understanding between myself and the vast majority of Russian people. Now, the strangest part is that I feel like I understand everything, but still end up confused, clearly not having grasped the conversation’s most vital information. For example, imagine talking to someone about FC Tom Tomsk’s recent change of manager, only to be told that your presence at Tuesday’s meeting will be eagerly anticipated. Or agreeing to meet someone on the basis of teaching them some English, following which they invite you to move in with you and want to take you on a trip to the countryside. More on that one soon… 

2. “You could not make this stuff up.”

This phrase is used on a daily basis, but pertains particularly to the events of Saturday. The night before had been spent at a club called Pravda. I spent a good ten minutes dancing alone on one of the platforms, making good use of the pole and majestically alienating myself from every other human inside. Thankfully, I remember everything and am confident that I can return there with at least some of my dignity still intact.

As a result of Friday’s antics, the early part of Saturday’s trip to the tiny village of Rybalovo was characterised by a hangover and an enhanced misunderstanding of mundane conversation. Izzi, Lucy and I visited a school, which was holding a tree-planting festival. We were welcomed by a class of 16 year olds and treated like celebrities. Many a photograph was taken and the staring was beyond disconcerting. Small children will stare at you for as long as they please… The news that three English people were in town had spread like wildfire and we met the mayor of Tomsk as well as being interviewed by Russian television! I do hope the video goes online so that everyone can witness our attempts to discuss the environmental impact of planting cedar trees; I’m sure it will be uncomfortable viewing.

Lucy, Sasha and Izzi being interviewed for the telly

Our hostess was incredible. She plied us with gifts of food, photographs and clothing. The children gave us a tour of the village before helping us to plant trees. I was introduced to one girl who promptly declared her love for me. It turns out I’m quite a hit with 16 year old Siberian ladies… Rather fantastically, she is called Masha, but I refrained from informing her that I too am called that because she may well have collapsed from sheer delight. We planted a tree together, which is all well and good, unless it somehow means I’ve agreed to marry her. As I’ve mentioned before, you never really know! I will probably end up accidentally marrying her through an embarrassing miscommunication or total cultural confusion. The whole day was lovely, but really rather surreal. 


Masha and Masha

The Russians have a saying that goes something like this:

“You must plant a tree, build a house and have a son before you can become a man.”

It looks like I'm a third of the way there! Next I'll build a house and then... Ahem, we'll see. 



Sunday 22 September 2013

Road Safety: 5 Rules Ignored in Russia

The rules of the road in Russia are difficult to determine. In fact, I would go so far as to say that they are utterly nonexistent. I embarked on a weekend away to Novosibirsk, Russia's third-largest city and capital of Siberia. Izzi and I were driven there by the delightful Pleshakova sisters, who will hopefully feature heavily in my Tomsk experience. Incidentally, Tomsk is the 32nd biggest city; I know some of you were wondering. Anyway, a complete lack of road safety and no rules is what I'm claiming to have experienced. You may think I am exaggerating somewhat; surely there must be some rules? Well, here are five rules that you might expect road users to adhere to, but quite simply, they don't:

1. In Russia, you drive on the right.

Yes. Well, not always. Rather alarmingly, on motorways, this 'guideline' seems to have been forgotten. The problem is that often the motorway is just a bog-standard road, your average single carriageway. As a result of this, the only way to overtake is to venture onto the other side of the road, something you might occasionally do in England, but not as a prerequisite for every single journey you make. Diving, darting and weaving are commonplace, with cars, buses and lorries all getting involved in the action, on corners, hills, everywhere. I found myself reminiscing about those wonderful "hidden dips!" signs we have at home... To be fair, there were 'no overtaking' signs on the road, but these are quite religiously ignored, exemplified by a one car overtaking a police car, next to one of these signs. The mind boggles... I genuinely believe that some drivers spend more time on the left hand side of the road, such is their addiction to absolute mayhem. And we did witness some carnage, the aftermath of a crash, presumably caused by one of these outrageous manoeuvres. Several cars were involved, one of which was fairly smashed up. It's safe to say that the atmosphere in our little Fiat Picanto became noticeably tenser...

2. Pedestrians are not allowed on motorways.

After my expedition to Novosibirsk, I can confirm that this is not true. Pedestrians can often be seen on the roadside, from hitchhikers to old ladies, selling baked goods. But the authorities even encourage this behaviour. The road briefly widened to a dual carriageway, which I assumed was to allow for overtaking and, as a result, greater speeds. But instead, a cafe appeared on one side and a toilet on the other, connected by a zebra crossing! Inside the cafe were the smells of meat soup and пирожки - pirozhki (pasty-type snacks), accompanied by the sound of screeching brakes and tyres as burly Russian truck drivers marched obstinately over the road. Strangely, stopping at zebra crossings seems to be the only thing that every driver does. I also nipped into the toilet, paying the 10 rouble surcharge (20p), only to be greeted by a hole in the ground. I can't decide whether I was more amused at paying 10 roubles to use a hole in the ground or at the fact that there were fully-functioning, electric hand-dryers but no locks or loo seats. On the bright side, it must have been worse for the girls.

3. The car on the roundabout has the right of way.

Now this one is a real brain-tickler. In Tomsk, the roundabouts are fairly orderly, working in much the same way as they do in the rest of the world: you wait until there's a space and then make your move. However, all of that changes when you arrive in Novosibirsk. For some bizarre reason, in Novosibirsk, the cars on the roundabout have to wait. Needless to say, I was flabbergasted. Miraculously, we weren't hit, but it was a close run thing. This happened about 2 days ago, and ever since I have been trying to work out what part of this is a good idea. Firstly, I would have thought that cars could pile up on the roundabout if they can't get off. Secondly, and more importantly, WHY does the rule change between cities?!? It is absolute nonsense.

4. Lights must be switched on at night.

Whether or not this is a rule, it falls under the common sense section of road safety, along with "look where you're going" and "open your eyes". Of course, at night you may as well do neither of the above if you're not even going to switch the lights on. But there was a bloke driving a rusty, old tractor (yes they're allowed on motorways too) without lights, but with a rather large trailer. I saw him as we went past and am glad that he was on the other side of the road...

5. Driving through roadworks is not permitted.

This is a bit of a strange one. Normally with roadworks, there's a diversion and signs for the drivers. Here, the road was closed for repairs, but instead of a nice diversion, there was the option of driving around the roadworks on a temporary road surface of stones and grass, before rejoining a few hundred metres later. Our vehicle wasn't built for 4x4 driving, but just about managed. In Russia, there's always a way. It's refreshing to know that just because the road has gone, it doesn't mean people will give up. They just get on with it.

Anyway, enough about roads! We visited the zoo at Novosibirsk and I managed to see the snow leopard that I one day hope to own. This zoo also has the world's only 'liger' (a cross between a tiger and a lion), which was pretty exciting.
Snow leopard. Chuffed with this photo. 

The weather was a little colder this week, but is set to reach the balmy heights of 17 degrees on Tuesday!  Nevertheless, I have now forked out on a winter coat and some fur-lined boots. I bought them in a market, so let's all keep our fingers crossed that they work. Otherwise, I may as well go and sit on the motorway with a 'no overtaking' sign.

Sunday 15 September 2013

I Wanna Make Plov In This Club

I have now been in Tomsk for a week and it really is rather pleasant. Yes, the accommodation is £32 per month, BUT it has everything I need. My bedroom is comfortably large enough to fit a man of my size, the shower is both warm and powerful and I have my own fridge. The one drawback is a lack of communal areas where one could meet the building's other inhabitants. Such is my desire to speak Russian, however, that I shall probably bound into their lives in the coming days whether they like it or not! Next door to me lives a nomadic Pole named Misha, giving us a most euphonious name-duo of Misha and Masha, which I'll encourage people to use here. Incidentally, I have actually started introducing myself as Sasha (the Russian short-form of Alexander), to fool people into thinking I am a Siberian local, rather than just an English gent. Alas, rosy cheeks give me away; people here seem to have colourless, almost lifeless skin. Anyway, Misha gives me vodka every night, insisting that it's medicine and you should always have some before bed. Then he'll say:

"You should have a second shot. You need one for each leg."

Quite simply, you can not argue with that logic. What am I to do? We get on very well and have agreed to fly to Tajikistan(?!) when we get some time off. I was almost entirely joking, but Misha has been looking at flights, so I'll let you know what Dushanbe is like if we actually go... (Add that to the useless knowledge section of your brain).
My crib. Pretty sure I'm not getting a roommate, but who knows...

The Russian is resurfacing after a Summer of hibernation and I'm getting back into the swing of it slowly, but it's still pretty tricky. The babushkas/ бабушки (old ladies) who look after the halls and residents often say things that I don't understand, such that my facial expression is more often than not, blank. They do love the fact that we're English though, and their smiles are just lovely. I did make a bit of a nuisance of myself by barging into a room and disturbing a working lady:

"I'm busy! Did you not see the sign?!" she barked.

The depressing fact was that I had spent the better part of a minute staring intently at the sign to which she was referring. Evidently, I had been unable to decipher the message, but decided that it was most probably an invitation to come in. Hopefully, my perseverance and brazen idiocy will help me to thrive in this fine nation, rather than lead me down the avenues of strife and deportation.

This weekend has been smashing. On Friday, I was finally allowed to reveal the secret I had been keeping for months: a surprise birthday visit to a country house for Izzi. Along with the two other Bristol girls in Tomsk, we spent the night in a wooden hunting lodge on the banks of a lake; it was pretty special. We ate plov, something that I had really been looking forward to, and it didn't disappoint! It's actually an Uzbek dish originally, and is just rice with vegetables, herbs and meat. It was delicious and there was so much leftover that Izzi and I have been eating it every day since. We also enjoyed a lovely expedition on the water in a rowing boat, with the surprisingly fierce September sun reddening my cheeks.
Boat on water  beside jetty

Perhaps the highlight was the Russian Banya experience. Sergei, the caretaker of the property gave me the full, authentic treatment. He ordered me to remove all my clothes before leading me into the steam room. Basically it's a sauna, but hotter. I have never been so hot. I was sweating everywhere, almost as badly as Ted Striker in 'Airplane!' (sensational film). I seemed to be sweating from my eyes, or possibly I was crying at the fact that I was being cooked alive. Apparently temperatures can reach 90 degrees... Sergei then beat me with branches and leaves, which was the most unpleasant part, due to the droplets of boiling water falling off them. Then it was off for some late-night skinny dipping in the lake, which was incredible. It was exceptionally bizarre, but a lot of fun and just one of the reasons I love this absurd culture. This video is quite amusing and gives a pretty good idea of what it was like.


On Saturday, we ventured into Tomsk's clubbing scene, to an establishment called 'Metro'. To be brutally honest, I doubt we'll be going again. The dance floor was enormous, crying out for moves and shapes of the utmost flamboyance, unfortunately a concept that hasn't spread this far east it would appear. The great shame was that I was beaten by vodka on this occasion. I got it severely wrong. I would put it up there with the infamous rum episode in the Dominican Republic, or the Baileys and Park Street combo. I intend to give a more insightful account of the Russian nightclub in weeks to come. I shall take heed of my father's most valuable advice: Be Good. From here on in, I will.

And this evening, we ventured out in the pouring rain to watch FC Tom Tomsk play Anzhi Makhachkala. It was a battle of the Premier League's bottom two sides, Tomsk having played seven and lost seven prior to today. We took a two goal lead early in the second half, but were pegged back to 2-2. It was a great experience and I intend to go to every home game, but the standard of football was very poor. But a point is a point, so Tom Tomsk can hopefully get their season up and running now!

I'm intending to do and see a lot before the snow comes down and everything is submerged, so watch this space!

Tuesday 10 September 2013

Walking in St Petersburg

I spent the first week of my Russian expedition wandering around the sunlit streets of St Petersburg with my glamorous travelling companion, Miss Isabella Craft. Fortunately, St Petersburg is an excellent city for wandering. The architecture is top notch and around every corner you’ll find another stunning cathedral or landmark site. Those of you who are, like myself, at times a little stingy, will also be delighted to hear that many places have free student entry. So even if you’re not that keen on 18th century Russian sculpture, you can tick off the obligatory ‘museum box’ on the itinerary for a “cultural” city break, without spending a penny.

I had been to St Petersburg twice before, but had not managed to see Catherine the Great’s Summer Palace. It is 25km south of the city in a little town called Pushkin, as many things are in Russia, and really was spectacular. The sheer size of it alone was absurdly bombastic, but the design, colour scheme and surrounding park made the trip sufficiently worthwhile.

The last time I was in St Petersburg, I stayed in the amusingly named ‘Crazy Duck Hostel’. My friend, James, and I were treated to a Russian night of drinking. Essentially, we were plied with an unnecessary amount of vodka, followed by another bottle of ‘Ivan’s Finest’ from a late-night street seller. My memory of that night is fortunately hazy, but I do recall chatting a lot of nonsense and crawling to bed in the early hours of daylight. This time, we were far more sensible, perhaps the result of a woman’s touch, who knows! A highlight was eating out at a Spanish restaurant, with tapas and flamenco dancers for our entertainment. This time round I was also treated to clean bed sheets and an old woman playing the banjo, both of which have naturally contributed to an enjoyable stay.

Other evenings were spent on and around Nevskiy Prospekt. We met our friend John, a fellow Russian student from Bristol, who invited us for dinner at his outdated, Soviet apartment. He lives with two blokes, one of whom, a Swedish wrestler, gently coerced me to eat some of his favourite pickled herring. I won’t lie to you that I found it rather repulsive, but naturally, I had to bend the truth at the time to suit the Swede’s needs and his imposing physique. To read about John’s adventures, visit http://jamuzzle.wordpress.com/. You’ll see pictures of his bath, which sticks through the wall and into the hallway. Enough incentive I would have thought.

Of course, the main objective with this whole year abroad is to become as good at Russian and Portuguese as possible. Both Izzi and I had clearly been out of practice over the Summer, but I don’t think either of us were prepared for just how rusty we were going to be. At passport control, a far more serious place than its British equivalent, I spluttered several times rather than dignify the stern, official woman with a response to her question:

“Why have you come to Russia?”

Perhaps, I could be forgiven if I had never learnt the word ‘study’ in five years of learning Russian, but given that it was written on the piece of paper I was clutching, I think it must be simply classed as a horrendous failure. More amusing was Izzi misunderstanding the instructions at the check-in desk. As her bag was a little too heavy, the man asked her to put my bag alongside hers. Izzi, however, climbed onto the scales herself amid gasps and laughter from onlookers (mainly me). The man behind the counter was similarly flabbergasted and to quote Izzi: “it was very embarrassing for everyone involved.” Fortunately, I was not involved, and loved it.


Since those early days, our language has certainly improved, but there is still a long way to go. First impressions of Tomsk are good, my £32 a month accommodation seems to be holding up and we’ve begun to settle in. I shall update in a few days with tales of this fine city and, presumably, my ventures into Russia’s gastronomic sphere.

Tuesday 3 September 2013

My Own Deadline Day

Even excluding the day's football mayhem, I've had a busy day of packing and Russian around (best to get that one out of the way early on). My own deadlines have now been met, allowing me to recommence my blog, originally called "Mazza's Travels", then the very original "Alex Marrow's Blog" before emerging now as "Ra Ra Mazputin".

I'm going to Russia tomorrow, or to be more precise, Tomsk, a city in the depths of Siberia. Apart from that I know very little about where I'm going, but that's all part of the fun! The last few months have been spent gathering various items that I'll need ranging from a visa to thermal underwear. I've also had to savour some of the British cuisine that it might be hard to find in Russia, such as pizza and curry, as I venture into a world of the appetisingly named broth-based dishes, borsch and plov. In fact, Russia's most prestigious airline, Aeroflot, describes my in-flight meal as "bland", which sounds most appealing. I suppose you have to admire their honesty... However, I'm definitely not going to knock the food until I've tried it, but watch this space for my opinions.

Those of you who have visited my blog before may be pleased to hear that I am going to be writing on a weekly basis for the next year, after a long period in the shadows, only writing the odd piece about football, theatre and bizarre escapades. However, as I'm going abroad again, I'll be keeping people updated on here. I'm aiming to cater to all audiences, writing about sport, culture, food, people and that real crowd-pleaser, the "Meanwhile in Russia..." stories.

Hopefully, the motherland will provide me will some great anecdotes, keeping my readership sufficiently enthused. Whatever happens, I'll keep writing and maybe, you'll keep reading.