Studying Languages through the Eyes of a British Student

English is the world’s most global language. The reach of the English language all over the world is incomparable. Yes, speakers of Mandarin thoroughly outnumber Anglophones, but the significance of English can be felt everywhere, from a quiet Uruguayan seaside town all the way to a bustling hostel in Nanjing. Taking this into account, why would a native English speaker want to learn other languages?

The reasons are plentiful. Firstly, despite the worldwide reach of English, over 75% of the world’s population doesn’t speak a word of it. Secondly, learning a language is an exceptionally enjoyable experience, lending itself to travel and the opportunity to socialise with people whose experiences in life will have been entirely different to yours. Thirdly, and most importantly, learning a language is a matter of respect. In my opinion, there is nothing more disrespectful than expecting someone to speak to you in your native language when visiting their country, without making the tiniest effort to learn the words for ‘hello’ and ‘thank-you’. It is this long-standing impertinence on the part of native English speakers that causes people to squeal with delight and ply me with compliments when I succeed in articulating just a few words in a foreign language. In Britain, no one bats an eyelid when foreigners speak English; it has become overwhelmingly normal.

But why choose Russian? Quite simply, I was given an opportunity, took it and discovered that Russian is fantastic. There is a marvellous logic to this language that is hidden beneath the triumvirate of noun cases, verbs of motion and exceptions to the rules. These exceptions routinely baffle me, but I pull through and persevere. For an English speaker, the idea of cases, complex verb declensions and genders is a foreign concept, just as indefinite articles and elaborate tenses are to a Russian. Clambering over these hurdles is a constant struggle, but gradually you feel yourself improving, which feels absolutely fantastic. The other huge benefit of learning Russian is that I have to spend time in Russia. There is a mysterious something about this country that excites and enthrals me on a daily basis, but quite what that something is, I can’t put my finger on.

When speaking to foreigners about languages, the general consensus is that British people quite simply aren’t very good at them. I don’t know whether this is true or not, but it is a fact that fewer British people speak another language than our European neighbours. 56% of EU citizens can speak at least one foreign language, whereas only 38% of British people can (British Council). This statistic doesn’t mean British people aren’t good at learning languages, just that the majority of us choose not to. However, it may be that the simple structure of English means that British people struggle to pick up other languages as quickly as people from other countries.

However, another possible reason could be to do with the way foreign languages are taught in schools. The vast majority of British people will have studied French at school at some point during their education. For me, French was compulsory, and I started learning it when nothing at school seemed particularly exciting. At the age of 10, I hadn’t yet developed a linguistic passion and was fairly unenthusiastic about my French classes. The other, big problem with the system in Britain is the overemphasis on learning the theory of a language, with very little practice. As a result, language classes tend to be rather dull and pupils are likely to forget things from week to week. Furthermore, we all process information in different ways, so one way of teaching a language will work well with some pupils, but not with others. I was fortunate enough to have some fantastic teachers in secondary school who both inspired me to want to speak languages, and showed me that I was actually quite good at them.

So how could the British system be improved? Unfortunately, any attempts may be futile, simply because us Brits know that we can happily pursue almost any career we want, without needing to learn another language. There is no fear factor. In Scandinavia, for example, the people accept that an ability to speak English is almost a requirement for them, a skill they need to succeed in life. In Britain, there is no such feeling. In fact, there is stubborn inflexibility towards learning languages. I’m forever asked: “Why do languages? Everyone speaks English.” We already know that this isn’t the case, so here is what I would suggest we do. Firstly, we need to offer a bigger variety of languages at an earlier age, so that pupils have a choice, rather than being forced to study French. Secondly, we need to make young children realise the importance of learning foreign languages, so that Britain is not left behind as the world develops. Thirdly, children need to be inspired early on; they need to look forward to their language classes and be excited by being able to converse in another language. And finally, the focus has to be on how to use the language skills in context, not just theory, grammar and vocab.

The Russian education system has a different approach. I don’t know exactly what happens, but I am amazed at the number of people that speak such fantastic English, without having spent any time in an English-speaking environment. For us British students, this year abroad is our one big opportunity to actually speak well in a foreign language. Our university education places so much importance on spending time abroad, to immerse ourselves with the language and culture, but Russians seem to be able to do this from the comfort of their own back garden. True, English is so readily available everywhere, in the form of music, films and advertising, that you can easily test your skills. However, this can’t be the sole reason for Russians' ability to develop such a good level of English. I’m sure there are several lessons we can learn from them. 

As you may have gathered, I am a big fan of languages. Learning Russian isn’t a chore for me, it’s a hobby. I love my degree and the opportunities that come with it. I also feel proud to represent the minority of British students that pursue foreign languages, hoping that over time, our nation will realise the importance of international communication in a language other than our own.  

Living on the Sledge: Snow Rules

Snow has fallen, all around me. Aside from giving everything a picturesque, Christmas feel, the settling snow means one thing: going anywhere is difficult. Walking, a skill that I first succeeded in performing aged 11 months, and subsequently mastered at the age of two, has become exceptionally cumbersome. Thus, words such as slip, slide, topple and tumble have frequented my lexicon of late. Isabella and I have developed a scoring system to enjoy the snow, cold, slush and of course, ice. For if you can’t laugh at your own trivial misfortunes, then life in this world will be extremely tough. Over time, players will amass an accumulative points tally. The beauty of the system is that there are two ways to play: either you cautiously tread everywhere, aiming for a low total; or you live more dangerously, with a carefree "let's see what happens" attitude. Therefore, winners can come from either end of this double-sided spectrum. And now: living with snow rules.

• Stepping in a puddle- 5 points.
• Getting sprayed by a car- 20 points.

Puddles are devious little creatures that silently hide on pavements and attempt to drown your feet. It can be hard to tell what is ice and what is water, so you must always have your wits about you and you will find yourself staring at the ground an awful lot. The rush of freezing cold water submerging your toes is a particularly unpleasant sensation, but there may be worse to come, with more points on offer (see frostbite). However, getting sprayed by a car is a rookie mistake. We have been here long enough to know that if you stand too close to the road, you are simply asking for trouble. As a result, a drenching caused entirely by a combination of a lapse in concentration and your own remarkable stupidity yields a larger amount of points.

• Stacking it- 10 points.

I am fortunate enough to have avoided falling over so far (touch wood), but it is only a matter of time. Whatever journey you make, whether it be long or short, you will at some point be under serious threat from the ice. I have adopted a shuffling approach as well as keeping my knees shoulder-width apart, to maintain a strong, solid base. Unfortunately, even this may not be enough. Of course, the severity of the fall may change the amount of points awarded. Players will be rewarded for making flamboyant attempts to not hit the deck, and punished for falling whilst attempting a deliberate slide.

• Hit by falling snow- 35 points.
• Struck by a falling icicle- 50 points.

All over the city, there are signs warning pedestrians about snow falling from rooftops. We have already experienced several near misses. Points may be awarded for exceptionally close calls, or perhaps for expert avoidance, as well as quite literally taking it on the chin. Falling icicles are no laughing matter. 100 people per year are killed by these demons. We are hoping this won’t happen of course, but icicles do offer the most points. (http://www.oddee.com/item_98002.aspx)

• Being asked if you’re cold- 5 points.
• Receiving strange looks and comments- 10 points.

Wonderfully hospitable and caring that Russian people are, they are obliged to frequently ask whether you are cold or not. So stubbornly polite are us Brits, we will always answer this question with a stoical ‘no’, even though we are invariably freezing. The strange looks you might receive will be to do with your choice of clothing. Centuries of experience mean that the Russians know all the best ways to deal with the cold, and we don’t. Our ways to combat the temperature will certainly make us stick out like a sore thumb.

• Frostbite- 45 points.

Speaking of sore thumbs, let’s move onto frostbite. This is another big scorer and another one that I hope I won’t come across. If I do lose a finger, at least I can live safely in the knowledge that I’ve added 45 big ones to my total.

• A collision with a person, car, bus or tram- 10, 20, 30 and 40 points respectively.

Collisions with people are fairly likely, as safe places to walk become fewer and therefore more crowded. Modes of transport are slightly different. You have to remember that the snow covers the road and road signs, so zebra crossings may as well not exist anymore. The traffic can be a bit crazy and takes some getting used. I am still not used to looking out for trams, so I imagine that this will be my downfall. Below is a picture of what my face might look like if pressed up against the window of a tram. It is actually a picture of me singing The Beatles last week in a band of Russian scientists: yet another classic aspect of my Siberian life…

"Sasha and the Scientists"

The Russian Nightclub: Pros and Cons

The nightclub. A phenomenon in existence all over the world, largely based on the same premise: people of a certain age can dance, socialise and drink in a predetermined establishment. Of course, as with anything, cultural differences manifest themselves everywhere and the nightclub is no different. Below are my observations and thoughts on the Russian nightclub.

1. The Dancing

I must start with the dancing. For me, adequate dancing space is the most important aspect of a club. You need room for flailing limbs and pirouetting, or for whatever shape your body decides to adopt. In Russia, there is often too much space, but not for a lack of people; they just love having the space to move. The best example of this was in a club called Havana, in Krasnoyarsk, a huge warehouse of an establishment. One wall was lined with floor to ceiling mirrors, which led to one of the most bizarre things I have seen on a night out: people dancing with their reflection. They maintained intense eye-contact with themselves, throwing shape after ludicrous shape. In an effort to understand the these people, I have come up with a few potential reasons for practicing this hobby:

• This technique is a form of self-analysis, allowing you to fine-tune your best moves, perhaps for a competition or dance tournament.
• The reflection of your fellow dancers gives the impression that you have come here with friends, or that the club has double the amount of people.
• The mirror serves as an opportunity to satisfy your immense vanity.
• The concept of the mirror is relatively new to you and you are marvelling at the way the bloke opposite you copies your moves identically.

It is worth pointing out that most of these people have come alone. I’ve met several rather tragic people who go to clubs alone, in search of friends or perhaps a lover. But these clubbers clearly had no intention of socialising; they were at one with the music, intent only on furiously expressing themselves through the medium of dance. I of course gave it a go and felt utterly ridiculous, fully aware that this particular pastime requires a complete lack of self-consciousness. Fortunately, if we just focus on the dancing, the Russians really don’t hold back. It would seem that nothing is too. PRO.

Russians having a great time

2. The Music

Another vital aspect of the clubbing experience, but one that Russia hasn’t quite got right, is the music. Russian pop music seems to be pretty dire at the moment, exemplified by people being embarrassed to tell me the names of any current artists. In the clubs, fortunately, the majority of songs use the recognised dance music conventions of a four to the floor beat and strong bass. They even play popular, Western songs, just with a slight problem: everything is a remix. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love a good remix, but when someone takes Avici’s ‘Wake Me Up’ chorus away from me, I start to get a little irritated. Why play a bang average remix of such a fantastic song? Furthermore, there isn’t much variety. Yes, 5ive and Selena Gomes are unexpectedly popular out here, but until they start bringing in the likes of B*Witched and Hall & Oates, they won’t have my vote. CON.

3. The Cloakroom

This one is very simple. You don’t have to pay to check a coat, scarf, bag, or presumably anything into the cloakroom. Anywhere. I hope this is out of generosity, because when it gets cold you simply can’t leave the house with less than a couple of layers on and it is simply too dangerous to tempt people into going out in just a t-shirt, in an attempt to save a little money. Another marvellous feature of Siberia in general is that every bar, restaurant and home has an abundance of coat stands. Is there anything better than a good coat stand? PRO.

4. The Striptease

This is another one of those classic things that Russia has decided is normal, as some bizarre form of mid-clubbing entertainment. The music stops, the DJ says something inaudible and everyone turns their attention to the stage (yes, stage). A scantily clad woman will appear and begin to seductively remove her few remaining clothes. Normally, a little is left to the imagination, but in Krasnoyarsk’s aforementioned Havana Club, the ‘performer’ took all of her kit off. Everything. Spectators, primarily male, had gathered in front of the stage, clutching a beverage and watching absent-mindedly, as if this was merely a news broadcast. Even our beloved dancers at the mirrors had wrenched themselves away from themselves either to watch the spectacle, or to seek refreshment in their half-time interval. I found the whole thing quite unnecessary. I’m sure this woman was talented in her craft, but had I wanted to see it, I’m sure there are places I could go. At least warn us upon entry! The sign should read: “Half price drinks before 12, Moscow DJS and Svetlana’s genitals.” CON.

5. The Platform

The brilliance of the platform mustn’t be underestimated. It allows us amateurs to showcase our talent for the whole club to see. If you are lucky enough to find a platform with a pole, use it well. It may be a while before you find yourself in this situation again and you should never pass up such an opportunity. Clubs in Russia fully understand the importance of a good platform, such that you are often allowed to dance on the bar, in the unfortunate event of occupied platforms. But the platform is more than just a dancing tool. It is a vantage point, a break from the crowds, and even somewhere to socialise. People you meet on the platform can become lifelong friends; you will find that your views and ideals are similar, as well as sharing a love of looking like an absolute cock-womble in front of everyone… PRO.

 

Tomsk's finest club (apparently a restaurant as well, why not?)

6. The Competition

Similarly to the striptease, some clubs will incorporate a competition into the evening’s entertainment: a break from the music where a few lucky punters have the chance to win a bottle of vodka, usually by doing something ridiculous like climbing into a bin-bag or reeling off their best chat up line. This also seems unnecessary and occasionally degrading, although I may just be bitter as I haven’t yet competed, and not for a lack of trying. CON (subject to change if I compete, and win, in the not too distant future).

The Russian nightclub experience is many-layered and varies from place to place, but you are always guaranteed something absurd. You have been warned.

Tomsk to Krasnoyarsk: The Trans-Siberian Railway

To continue my travelling spree of late, I embarked on an expedition to Krasnoyarsk, the capital of Russia’s biggest region, with 13 international companions. Described by the guidebook as ‘bustling, affluent and backed by attractively jagged foothills’, my expectations of Krasnoyarsk were high. A large part of the appeal was the mighty River Yenisei, which dissects the city on its 3487km journey from the Mongolian highlands to the Arctic Circle. But before all of this, we first had to negotiate our way there from Tomsk.

I had travelled across Russia on the legendary Trans-Siberian Express three years earlier on an expedition from Beijing to Moscow. This time, however, I would only have a brief taste of the train’s unparalleled eccentricities. Somehow, Izzi and I had been roped into organising this trip, eventually managing to book 14 beds on the train and two apartments in Krasnoyarsk. After the hassle of planning, I was somewhat relieved to find myself in a swarming mass of people, all aiming to board the train from Tomsk to Taiga. Despite being one of Siberia’s oldest and culturally richest cities, Tomsk infamously lost out to Novosibirsk when the railway was introduced, meaning that to join the Trans-Siberian, one has to first head south on a bog-standard train. Our excitement to be on our way was tangible; the 2-hour train journey was punctuated by singing in various languages and a rather peculiar conversation with a lovely man named Mikhail, during which we discussed various topics, ranging from the extraordinary beauty of Russian women to the “interesting” differences in retirement ages around the world.

One of many group shots

As Taiga isn’t a major station, the train only stops there for 2 minutes. Half of us succeeded in finding the right carriage as the train pulled in, but the other half had to sprint down the platform, egged on by my panicky shouts, which were perhaps intensified by the ticket collector continuously screaming “WHERE ARE THEY” in my ear. Thankfully, we made it onto the train and were greeted with a temperature of 26 degrees and a simply phenomenal stench of body odour. Now, I remember being introduced to deodorant by my form teacher in year 8, when he announced to the class that it might be time for us to start spraying our underarms and changing our shirts more than once a week. In Russia, this life lesson seems to have passed them by. In the Western world, most people feel slightly self-conscious when the reek of body odour exudes from their pores, but many Russians feel no such shame, and that, quite simply, has to be admired. I was sleeping above two babushkas, with whom I spent about half an hour chatting, exchanging stories, mainly about the length of their journey, which had involved driving from Kiev to Moscow, before three days on the train.

I’m not sure what woke me in the morning, whether it was the sunlight, the bustle of people or the fact that my feet were sticking off the end of the bed at the average male head-height, perfect for butting. It may have also been the smell. No, it was definitely the smell. I hate to be vulgar, but I can’t find another way to describe the rather horrifying deterioration in smell from the night before. Before opening my eyes, I genuinely believed that someone had opened a bag of faeces. As a result, I chose to keep my eyes closed, in case the pungent air was strong enough to burn through my cornea. Needless to say, our arrival in Krasnoyarsk was most welcome. There was no sign of the bustling, affluent lifestyle that the book had promised, rather the odd architectural gem hiding among the glum facades. Perhaps in the summer it’s a different story, but the streets were rather empty. Fortunately, the River Yenisei exceeded expectations: a vast body of water carving its way through snow-capped peaks. Krasnoyarsk’s most photographed landmark, its main bridge, which also features on the 10-rouble note, took 20 minutes to walk across and was certainly a tasteful work of craftsmanship.

Krasnoyarsk Bridge on the 10-rouble note and again in the background

The highlight of the trip was our expedition to the Stolby Nature Reserve. Stolby (столбы) translates as ‘pillars’ or ‘columns’. A forty minute bus journey and several hours walking uphill leads to a series of rock formations that stick out of the ground like giant pillars, or perhaps human fingers. At the summit, snow began to fall, creating a surreal, Christmas feel to the whole place. Wandering through the forest and climbing the rocks was the perfect reward after a long day walking and I’m sure the views would have been even more remarkable had snow not been filling the skies. Alas, our ecstasy was short-lived as night began to fall. Five of us managed to get slightly lost among the darkening trees without telephone signal or water, occasionally bumping into groups of Russian who had also fallen afoul of the rapid sunset. Fortunately, we eventually worked our way out of the forest, well aware that bears and wolves could be lurking just metres away.

Me, on top of the world. 

The rest of our long weekend was spent roaming the streets, popping into churches, cafes and billiards clubs, soaking in the Krasnoyarsk life. In an attempt to indisputably confirm our tourist-status, we gleefully played in the snow as if we had never seen it before and dined in classy establishments such as KFC. To be fair, finding somewhere for 14 people is rather difficult. We did locate an ‘English Café’ that offered a free 5 minute phone call to anywhere in the world. The phone, of course, broke almost immediately, but we were in a marvellously English environment: red brick walls were draped with tapestries as we sat at a round table, in an underground dungeon, which I explained was a highly accurate representation of our country and that we all live in buildings just like this. Unfortunately, the service was beyond abysmal. Russia does a very peculiar thing of bringing whatever is ready, whenever it is ready, meaning that you all tend to be eating at different times. I confirmed with our international companions, with nationalities ranging from Swiss and French to Brazilian and Mexican that this form of service is both unusual and ridiculous. For the first 10 minutes, we had one glass of orange juice to share between us, before coffees and salads started arriving in dribs and drabs.

I wanted to spend my final day with one last hurrah, aiming to enjoy a boat trip on the Yenisei. However, the magnificently unhelpful woman at the ticket office, thwarted me:

“Excuse me, when does the next boat leave for Divnogorsk?”

“Next year.”

What a stupendously unhelpful response. Things do seem to close for the winter months, but I’m hopeful that the world of the more ridiculous Russian past times will open up, preferably involving snow, ice and limited items of clothing.