Uglich. Google it and you'll find such descriptions as 'quaint', 'undiscovered gem' and 'full of medieval charm', presumably referring to its many churches and history dating back to the time of Ivan the Terrible. So when my host asked (read: guilt tripped) us to go with her on Saturday, we agreed. Since there was mention of the broken mirror it seemed only right. We brought forward a trip to Vernisazh, the shopping mall we were due to visit (and so got the massive excitement of finding an Accessorize -there was jumping and squealing with joy- and the lols of a 'papa potatoes' in the food court, early) and dealt with the news we'd have to get up at 6am in a less than dignified way, dragging our exhausted selves from bed on the day devoted to lying in bed until some time in the pm.
Reliably informed by Firdaus that the coach would be large and comfortable enough to sleep on, we tried to keep up on the longer than we were told walk to where we'd be picked up. Nobody else was about and we fully expected to be boarding some kind of babushka day trip coach to see some orthodox churches. They would have bags full of dill, pickles and tomatoes. Hannah had even brought a scarf to cover her head just in case. At least it would be easy to sleep.
We heard the school kids before we saw them. A marauding group of 12 year olds came trooping towards us just as an empty coach pulled up. We decided that this was some kind of cultural school outing which we'd been roped into in order to make up numbers of adults. Firdaus seemed to be in charge at any rate, and proudly announced to the coach that 'These girls are ENGLISH!'.
Now, survival tactic number one for Russia, is to blend in as much as possible. Don't speak loudly in English, look as grumpy as everyone else and attempt to adopt their air of general cynicism and despair, resulting, one presumes, from the centuries of despotism, regular famines and corruption.
Firdaus blew this for us. Massively. So, headphones in, ignoring the yells of 'really?!' and random Russian children leaning over to get a better look at us (Clearly they were expecting extra limbs or something, God knows what they teach them in these schools), we sunk into our seats ready to sleep for the next two hours.
10 minutes later, ten 8 year old girls get on. All with mobiles loaded with remixes of pop songs. So we sat there, increasingly aware that Firdaus' definition of 'comfortable' did not match our own, listening to the techno remix of Alejandro on repeat, disdainfully discussing the amount of make up with which this mass of miniature humanity was adorned.
On we travelled, with what we presumed was Yaroslavl's population of delinquents and future teen parents in addition to the adults we made another stop for. Honestly, I struggle to think of a time when I have been quite that confused. Neither of us had any idea of what was happening. This was not helped when, 2 1/2 odd hours later, we saw signs for Uglich and everyone started excitedly screaming out 'UGLICH!', only for us to drive right on through and out. This is where the confusion reached new levels. People were clearly expecting to go to Uglich. Russian people, who understand Russian, so we hadn't majorly messed up on the understanding part (this does happen- Hannah misused the 'laugh at the appropriate sounding moment' tactic when Firdaus announced it was the 10 year anniversary of her husband's death. Awkward.). The scenery began to look familiar. Maybe school trips in Russia consisted of going, looking, and coming back, never once leaving the coach. There were lots of school buses around driving through, For a good 15 minutes, we wondered aloud what the hell we were doing with our lives and wore the bemused look of confused foreigners world over.
And then there was the sign. We were going to a festival of cultures. Hurrah! We pulled up at a bleak looking field, surrounded by even bleaker looking woods. There was a little stall with a samovar and a shaslick stand, a stage and several rows of logs to sit on in front of it. Hurrah retracted, Hannah put her scarf for church visits round her neck and we sulkily shivered away, me glancing around for the wolf which was blatantly going to storm out of the forest at any moment to put an abrupt end to the weirdness that is my life. Prokofiev would be playing and all. (Go look up the Peter and the Wolf reference. I was terrified of wolves thanks to that throughout my childhood)
|Our Uglich. Note the lack of *anything* except the lada.|
Turns out that our host had practically organised and was taking part in this cultural dancing and performing festival, and the future teen parents were actually a dance group. Oops. The show was none too bad, although I should think that English health and safety would have something to say about the decibel level emitting from the speakers. In between acts, our host was being her usual awesome self, dancing away, grabbing the photographer and tv camera people to film her friends. I noted this camera from a distance with some apprehension, making a mental note to keep my distance.
|Traditional Russian people, doing traditional Russian stuff|
|Random Priest wandering around. Closest we got to any church|
|See everyone's coats? That's because it was COLD. And the logs were so comfortable -_-|
Firdaus is something of a mystery at times. She manages to move huge distances without anybody realising she's even gone, and the fact that her ringtone is from Harry Potter only supports my theory that she is, in fact, a licensed apparator. Dumbledore did say that skilled wizards can apparate "so suddenly and silently" that they seem to have "popped out of the ground". So there you have it, Dumbledore said it, Firdaus fits it, it must be so.
Must buy Harry Potter on dvd in Russian. (Incidentally, despite the fact they have a letter similar to 'H', Russia decided Harry was to be called 'Garry'. Disgraceful.)
This decidely supernatural ability was to our detriment when, out of nowhere, I spotted Firdaus marching purposefully towards us, tv camera and presenter hovering somewhere in the background. Grabbing Hannah, I start power walking desperately in the other direction. It was no good. Engaging her super speed mode, Firdaus caught up with us and dragged us towards the camera. My cries of 'Ya ne hochu' (I don't want to) were ignored, and we were pushed in front of the camera. Trying my luck at escaping, I pulled out of the picture, but was only shoved back in to the insistence of the camera man saying 'Together!!'
WHY nobody would listen to my repeated 'Mi ne govorim po russkii' (we don't speak Russian), is beyond me. I was once told that if the police approach you, you should, as a foreigner, say 'ya ne ponedilnik', meaning, I am not Monday, rather than 'ya ne ponimayu': I don't understand, in an attempt to make the policeman decide the effort of creating a charge on which to fine you isn't worth the effort.
With hindsight, perhaps this is what I should have done. It's all well and good having certain phrases off to an art, clumsily stumbling your way through an oral lesson about a man who thinks he is ill but is actually just in love (Props to our wonderful oral teacher, Jelena) but when you have a microphone shoved in front of your face, speaking spontaneously is a completely different matter.
The 'interview' went something like this:
Scene: Mid field, very cold, bit soggy
Atmosphere: General air of desperation and impending failure. Disbelief that our lives have come to this.
Hannah and me: *Exchanging awkward glances, uncomfortable shuffling*
Presenter: Ok, so what are your names? *Mic to Hannah*
Hannah: Hannah Vard (When in Russia, pronounce your name the German way, apparently)
Me: *Proudly says name in the most English accent possible*
Presenter: Ok, and you are both studying here? *Mic to both of us*
Hannah and me: Mmhmm...
Presenter: *Pause to see if we were going to expand on that. Tense couple of seconds. Awkwardly retracts mic* Ok...and...what is your favourite part of this event (or words to that effect...or, something...) *Mic to Hannah*
Hannah: Umm....... *spark of genius*...*ish* Well we don't understand all the words, but we really like the singing! *smiley face*
Me: *Frantic nodding to signify my agreement and thus lack of need to ask me the same question*
Presenter: Uh huh, *Sticks mic under my nose*
Me: *Eyes glaze over in panic*
Presenter: And what do you like best of all about it?
Me: *Brain develops a gaping hole from which the entirety of my Russian promptly gushes out into the distance. Desperate look to Hannah* Erm. *Brain enters comatose state* Um. We like it, erm....when um...*Realisation I'm about to fail massively on Russian tv dawns* when the children dance. yes. especially.
Presenter: Right, I understand, you liked the children's dancing?
Me: *Closes eyes on hearing the correct conjugation of the verb* Da.
Presenter: Ok well thank you very much! *Says something else which my brain has blocked out*
We literally ran away. On reaching a safe distance, we stood. We looked at eachother. There was a combination of desperate laughter and near sobbing. Hannah asked WHY I chose a verb we couldn't conjugate? I pathetically explained that I couldn't think of anything that I did actually like best of all, we were supposed to be looking at churches!
Deciding that Firdaus had now lost awesome points, and that keeping as far from the tv at home as is possible was an absolute necessity, we moped a little more. Likelihood is that we'll be appearing on tv bloopers or some Russian equivalent in years to come. What in the hell had happened in our lives that we found ourselves in the middle of a field, giving a tv interview in Russia? What was it about us? We were interviewed last year in Russia too.
We like the children dancing.
What is my life?
We take a walk in an adjoining field to ponder on the disaster and cringe in peace, only to be attacked by an army of frogs. You don't realise quite how high they can jump until you're under siege from them. We scream. We run. We vow never to go near that field again and cringe some more.
Heart rates gradually returning to normal, we eye up the shaslick. It looks good and smells even better. Just as we start to walk over, Firdaus pops up from nowhere to tell us that it was time to eat, and to follow her. Straight through the frog battalion base.
The day was just one trauma after another, but bravely on we strode, because there was little else that could go wrong, really. Until we realised that the long table seating about 50 Russians, all in varying states of intoxication, was serving up fish soup. And by fish soup, I mean water with half a fish in it. Fortunately for me, who won't touch anything that has been in the sea/river/whatever body of water (unless it is prawn cocktail, in which case the prawns must not either look nor taste like prawns), I wasn't expected to endure this traditional delicacy. Hannah however, was handed a bowl. We sit down at the end of the table and examinine the contents. There it was. The head half of a silver fish, floating, its beady little fish eye staring blankly up at us.
She told me I would be eating it with her. I politely informed her that I would be doing no such thing, and cheerily settled down to observe. Hannah's year abroad project is Russian cuisine, what a perfect opportunity for some personal first hand observation!
|Gutted I had to miss out on this delicacy|
Hannah is clearly not very devoted to her project. 2 spoonfuls of the 'soup' and she hid the bowl behind someone else's, who had happily chomped it all down. Not even a tiny bite was taken from the sad little fish who had given its life to make an appearance in her bowl. Poor form, Hannah, poor form.
We did get some pictures, though, just to make it look like we'd made an effort. I happily munched away on the masses of tvorog and kolbasa while Hannah turned an unusual shade of green.
|Toast no. 283|
|I love him.|
It started to get a little awkward being surrounded by so many Russians when we couldn't really join in, especially when one person said we didn't understand them and I, rather insistently, said that we did.
Whenever anyone asks if you understand, you say yes. This, whether you do or do not understand, is generally because you know the words to this question well, and are answering the immediate question of if you understand that phrase. We did not understand what was going on, but it did at least mean that there was no way they would talk about us while we were there.
|Didn't want to get too close to it|
There was more fish handed around. This time it was whole and quite blackened. We were given little napkins before as if we were going to get some birthday cake or something nommy, so it was major lols (for me) when this was presented---------------------->
The next 45 minutes consisted of keeping eyes to the floor, Hannah pretending to eat the fish to avoid being told off by the Russians and muffled muttering to one another over the question of whether it was acceptable to leave the table. It was only when Firdaus announced everyone should go to watch the last act that we could make a run for it.
We ran past games that had been set up near the frog field, including the Russian version of welly throwing, which is the same, except with valenki- traditional felt boots. I particularly liked this, as I am not leaving the country without buying a pair. I have my eye on some with flowers embroidered on them.
Finally on to the bus. Ready to go home and take a bath, we were happy that the day was finally ending. Except that Firdaus announced that she would be staying to clear up and would meet us at home. Great. Ta Firdaus. But it was ok, we (Hannah) had a vague idea of how to get home from where we were picked up.
But that is not where we were dropped off. Last on the coach and pulling up outside the train station, we began to panic. A lady was asking us something and we weren't understanding. We think it may have been directions to where we wanted to go. There was something about the centre of town said. The driver refused. She got angry and shouted at him. We didn't know the directions to where we lived. Eventually we got off, simply because it seemed like the lady was saying we'd arrived where we said we wanted to be.
It's so full of highs and lows here that it's all a bit exhausting. On this particular day, though, it was driven home to me how vulnerable we are here and how little Russian we actually have. We did get home after a mile or so of walking, collapsing on the floor when we saw that Firdaus had, somehow, beaten us to it. Apparated again, most likely. Equally though it was simultaneously the most bizarre and best day I can remember. Russians are something to behold, their traditions are both insane and brilliant and the people outwardly are cold and impenetrable, much as the country is seen, yet persist a little and they are the warmest, most welcoming hosts you can imagine. Yes it's a little odd that babushkas randomly rummage through all the rubbish bins on their way down the streets, that there are soviet monuments and statues of Lenin placed next to modern building advertising the latest Western brands all over the place, that my translation teacher still yearns for a return to that era and there are politicians who promise free vodka and underwear for all if they are elected (Zhirinovsky, if you're interested), but that is the appeal of the place for me. It's totally politically incorrect and a law unto itself, and it really does need to be experienced.
I will still be staying away from the tv, though.
I like it when the children dance.