26/05: things I have learned
I should be back in England soon. I thought that I would go through questions I asked in discussion seminars to see what I can glean about Belarus. As and where I remember, I may add other things.
One thing that Belarusians generally pride themselves on - sometimes with a feeling of ambiguity - is their tolerance. They generally are tolerant, although sometimes making the sensible point that they have only small numbers of ethnic minority people here. There is a vociferous minority, however. One of my students thinks that racial intolerance is a good thing, for the preservation of indigenous cultures in his opinion. Shortly after meeting a couple of neonazis on the metro, I met some adherents of 'White Power' on the steps above Nyemega metro stations. This I think demonstrates the links between racist groups in the west and eastern Europe. I gave them a piece of my mind before going off with a local journalist who considered them mad.
Most people here are considerably more relaxed about homosexuality than elsewhere. (In Russia, it is considered by many to be a lifestyle choice, adopted in places such as Moscow and St Petersburg.) They see it as natural and have friends who are not heterosexual.
Moving away from matters of tolerance, one of my seminars related to giving, particularly to charities. Charities are far and few in the east. One thing that came out of this seminar was that many people in Belarus have the notion that all westerners are well-off and that all Belorusians are poor. The fact that Minsk is swarming with lunatics driving BMWs at an alarming rate and the obvious unlikelihood of a plutocrat nation out there in the UK does not seem to dent this logic. This comes out in Belarusian attitudes to foreigners, amongst employers and many others. We are there to be skinned financially, as customers or employees, with scant consideration of our circumstances (e.g. an English teacher is not rich and, as foreigners are only offered accommodation at a higher rate - because we're all rich - then in fact we have less to spend than most locals, who often live with their families or in cheaper accommodation). Even when you mention the recession, it is seen through their eyes. "We're having a recession, too." Well, no, they're not. They may be a lower income country, but their government protects them from many of the vicissitudes of the market. They are often a touch sorry for themselves, much as I like them and their sense of humour. (These are half-way between Poles and Russians, in temperament and language, Belorusian being the alternative language to Russian, spoken in the country but also in intellectual debate, I believe.)
The environment: a smaller country than Russia, many Belarusians do try to recycle and there are bins provided for plastics. Jokingly, they are happy at the idea of rising sea levels, as it may give them their own beaches.
In terms of gender, many locals are quite old-fashioned. The woman is expected to be fashionable and beautiful. The man is expected to pick up the tab on all or most occasions. It is very common in offices to see the female subordinate doing all the work while the male boss does very little and swans off to do important things (in the restaurant, perhaps).
Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie. In terms of their own and Russian literature, Belarusians are incredibly well-read compared to Russians or Brits. Some of them read widely in other literatures, including British literature. However, as with the Russians, many are only conversant with the England of Conan Doyle (that prolific Scottish writer) and Agatha Christie. So we are spoken of as foggy Albion and are generally well-mannered people who drink tea at set times in the afternoon. They are certainly unaware of urban violence, of anti-intellectualism and of economic problems in Britain. Although fashion, popular culture and politics in general terms do not pass them by. Belarusian people are far more western-looking than Russia, which has historically had an ambivalent attitude to the west (Peter the Great creating St Petersburg as his window on the west, with slavophiles such as Dostoyevsky considered Russian culture and the orthodox religion to be superior to their counterparts in the west).
One thing that Belarusians generally pride themselves on - sometimes with a feeling of ambiguity - is their tolerance. They generally are tolerant, although sometimes making the sensible point that they have only small numbers of ethnic minority people here. There is a vociferous minority, however. One of my students thinks that racial intolerance is a good thing, for the preservation of indigenous cultures in his opinion. Shortly after meeting a couple of neonazis on the metro, I met some adherents of 'White Power' on the steps above Nyemega metro stations. This I think demonstrates the links between racist groups in the west and eastern Europe. I gave them a piece of my mind before going off with a local journalist who considered them mad.
Most people here are considerably more relaxed about homosexuality than elsewhere. (In Russia, it is considered by many to be a lifestyle choice, adopted in places such as Moscow and St Petersburg.) They see it as natural and have friends who are not heterosexual.
Moving away from matters of tolerance, one of my seminars related to giving, particularly to charities. Charities are far and few in the east. One thing that came out of this seminar was that many people in Belarus have the notion that all westerners are well-off and that all Belorusians are poor. The fact that Minsk is swarming with lunatics driving BMWs at an alarming rate and the obvious unlikelihood of a plutocrat nation out there in the UK does not seem to dent this logic. This comes out in Belarusian attitudes to foreigners, amongst employers and many others. We are there to be skinned financially, as customers or employees, with scant consideration of our circumstances (e.g. an English teacher is not rich and, as foreigners are only offered accommodation at a higher rate - because we're all rich - then in fact we have less to spend than most locals, who often live with their families or in cheaper accommodation). Even when you mention the recession, it is seen through their eyes. "We're having a recession, too." Well, no, they're not. They may be a lower income country, but their government protects them from many of the vicissitudes of the market. They are often a touch sorry for themselves, much as I like them and their sense of humour. (These are half-way between Poles and Russians, in temperament and language, Belorusian being the alternative language to Russian, spoken in the country but also in intellectual debate, I believe.)
The environment: a smaller country than Russia, many Belarusians do try to recycle and there are bins provided for plastics. Jokingly, they are happy at the idea of rising sea levels, as it may give them their own beaches.
In terms of gender, many locals are quite old-fashioned. The woman is expected to be fashionable and beautiful. The man is expected to pick up the tab on all or most occasions. It is very common in offices to see the female subordinate doing all the work while the male boss does very little and swans off to do important things (in the restaurant, perhaps).
Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie. In terms of their own and Russian literature, Belarusians are incredibly well-read compared to Russians or Brits. Some of them read widely in other literatures, including British literature. However, as with the Russians, many are only conversant with the England of Conan Doyle (that prolific Scottish writer) and Agatha Christie. So we are spoken of as foggy Albion and are generally well-mannered people who drink tea at set times in the afternoon. They are certainly unaware of urban violence, of anti-intellectualism and of economic problems in Britain. Although fashion, popular culture and politics in general terms do not pass them by. Belarusian people are far more western-looking than Russia, which has historically had an ambivalent attitude to the west (Peter the Great creating St Petersburg as his window on the west, with slavophiles such as Dostoyevsky considered Russian culture and the orthodox religion to be superior to their counterparts in the west).
24/04: scissors, paper, stone
I am painfully aware that it is two months since I last posted a blog. Things have been busy. My landlord and landlady didn't manage to pay the bills, so my internet was cut off. This and their general lack of consideration led to my moving flat. I'm now a tube stop further from the centre of town, but with a living room as well as a bedroom and decent furniture. There's not much in the area, but it's quiet except for the trolleybus depot, with buses trolling in at one in the morning and out again at half past five; I'm getting used to it. Also, still seeing what can be done with www.careersteer.ru which is the Russian version of my career choice web site www.careersteer.org
Also, as my current employers are becoming increasingly unreliable (e.g. booking me for four days work and then cancelling the evening beforehand), I'm looking for another employer.
Anyway, a few miscelleneous comments to be getting on with.
Although I have been critical of Minsk's monumental architecture, I would like to say something nice about their statuary. Generally in metal, many of the city's statues are life-size and rather pleasant. Examples include the three-figure folk music group not far from Nyemiga metro and the man with a mustache standing next to his bicycle near the cinema at Akadem Nayuk.
Here are a couple of others.
More sinister, however, is the statuary on the side of the staircase leading down to the genocide monument on Melnakaite.
These are naked adults and children walking down steps in the nearby ghetto to be shot.
Which reminds me: a couple of days ago I saw a couple of young gentlemen with crewcuts on the metro. One wearing a singlet, had a swastika tattoo on his muscular right shoulder. When he put on his leather jacket, I thought that he would just wait to get off at the next stop. However, he and his friend moved towards the centre of the carriage, where a young Asian man was sitting quietly amongst a group of Belarusian girls. The two men stood over him, staring at him; he looked up at them. I moved along the overhead rail and faced them: "Nyet", I said. They moved away towards to exit, waiting to get off at the next stop, muttering something in English about what football team I supported. I'm assuming it was a case of the game 'scissors, hammer, stone': ah, Brits, they beat Nazis, we'd better surrender now. My students, rather surprised at my recklessness, tell me that it was Hitler's birthday, so no doubt they were thinking of celebrating in the way of some Moscow and St Petersburg thugs, by beating somebody in public.
As I have said, however, most the Belarusians I've met have been tolerant people, who view this quality as one of their country's strong points and one of their few differences from (some) Russians. There are many more progressive trends in this country. Again unlike their giant neighbour, many people do consider the environment. Cycling is apparently becoming an in-thing in Minsk (although many people have cars, causing a fair amount of congestion). Also, a taxi driver I know uses propane to power his vehicle. Apparently it is considerably cheaper than petrol or diesel, emittng fewer toxins. Presumably the government is encouraging its usage.
Also, as my current employers are becoming increasingly unreliable (e.g. booking me for four days work and then cancelling the evening beforehand), I'm looking for another employer.
Anyway, a few miscelleneous comments to be getting on with.
Although I have been critical of Minsk's monumental architecture, I would like to say something nice about their statuary. Generally in metal, many of the city's statues are life-size and rather pleasant. Examples include the three-figure folk music group not far from Nyemiga metro and the man with a mustache standing next to his bicycle near the cinema at Akadem Nayuk.
Here are a couple of others.
More sinister, however, is the statuary on the side of the staircase leading down to the genocide monument on Melnakaite.
These are naked adults and children walking down steps in the nearby ghetto to be shot.
Which reminds me: a couple of days ago I saw a couple of young gentlemen with crewcuts on the metro. One wearing a singlet, had a swastika tattoo on his muscular right shoulder. When he put on his leather jacket, I thought that he would just wait to get off at the next stop. However, he and his friend moved towards the centre of the carriage, where a young Asian man was sitting quietly amongst a group of Belarusian girls. The two men stood over him, staring at him; he looked up at them. I moved along the overhead rail and faced them: "Nyet", I said. They moved away towards to exit, waiting to get off at the next stop, muttering something in English about what football team I supported. I'm assuming it was a case of the game 'scissors, hammer, stone': ah, Brits, they beat Nazis, we'd better surrender now. My students, rather surprised at my recklessness, tell me that it was Hitler's birthday, so no doubt they were thinking of celebrating in the way of some Moscow and St Petersburg thugs, by beating somebody in public.
As I have said, however, most the Belarusians I've met have been tolerant people, who view this quality as one of their country's strong points and one of their few differences from (some) Russians. There are many more progressive trends in this country. Again unlike their giant neighbour, many people do consider the environment. Cycling is apparently becoming an in-thing in Minsk (although many people have cars, causing a fair amount of congestion). Also, a taxi driver I know uses propane to power his vehicle. Apparently it is considerably cheaper than petrol or diesel, emittng fewer toxins. Presumably the government is encouraging its usage.
25/02: three visits and a fiasco
I find the Minchunya to be generally rather more liberal in their attitudes than Russians. Last night, however, I had a smartly dressed rather cosmopolitan middle-aged man in one of last night's English conversation classes, who banged on (and on) about the menace of immigrants and their rude behaviour (and poor assimilation) on British culture. I did question him about whether or not he was really making observations of certain youngsters whose families were in fact English but of ethnic origin, but no he was specific that this was about immigrants and there were a lot of them. I cited the Poles as our majority immigration faction, but he said he was talking about non-EU people and when questioned further, about non-white people (as Russians etc didn't count in his estimation). He made rivers of blood type noises about the likely effects of immigration in the coming years.
In short, there are some strange mental currents swirling around, heading from west to east and often back again. A bit like Professor Dawkins' memes, I suppose. I find it very disturbing. Whereas contemporary debates and disagreements about race, religion, etc have often been based upon historical interpretations, statistics or differing views of assimilation, we currently seem to be beset by viral perceptions with little logical basis. In Siberia, I also had people telling me about English comments about no longer living in a white country. I hope I'm wrong, but I rather think that Hitlerite pseudoarguments can arise from this sort of thing. Oh dear, I think I'm getting pessimistic.
On the optimistic side, last week I visited Minsk's Museum of the Great Patriotic War (1941-1945 - I know this is divisive from a western point of view, but then 1939-1945 is misleading from an Ethiopian or Chinese [or Spanish?] perspective). Most of this was devoted to the Soviet war effort and more specifically the Belarusian contribution. Belarus lost about 30% of its people and had 70% of its towns and villages destroyed (Minsk itself has few prewar buildings), partly because of its genuinely impressive contribution to the war effort (including Jews who escaped from the Minsk ghetto to fight as partisans) and partly because the country was dedicated to the Mein Kampf idea of an agrarian expansion of Germany with all the 'clearance' that that implied.
The western contribution merely consists of a diagram of the Normandy invasion tucked away in the victory story part of the museum and a picture of 'Anglo-American' troops coming off the landing boats onto the beach.
Some of the museum is spectacular. A German tank emerges through one of the walls.
There is a small room in the museum which treats of atrocities to civilians. There are a limited number of exhibits, most of them photographs, but they are chosen with devastating effect. Some of it pertains to Belarusians' sufferings. A young blonde woman, presumably part of the resistance, is shown in before and after mode, being hanged in public. An elderly couple are seen opposite each other, hanging from what is presumably their own living room. A German soldier laughs heartily as another victim hangs from a tree. Other photographs show Jews behind stockades awaiting their fate. One photo shows bodies lying together on a wooden floor, so emaciated that they look like plastic homunculi.
I get to my point: School children are regular visitors to the museum. I saw several such visitations during my few hours there. The room of terror, including and especially the section that treats of Jewish suffering, is given particular attention by teachers, and young people here learn a considerable amount about this aspect of the war.
In general, I notice rather a different attitude in Belarus to the nationalism I found in most Russian young people (who I still think of with affection by the way). In Belarus, patriotism is there. They try to foster their dying language and look at Belarusian history as such, but their patriotism is infused with an understanding of history and a keen interest on political developments in the west. Most also seem liberal in their views on race. I've seen people from Africa and Asia on the streets. My discussion with a Nigerian medical student (it is cheaper to study here than in Russia) confirmed my view of this. He generally considered the people to be rather reasonable in their attitudes and had had very little concerns over his time here. Room for optimism here.
On to the second visit. This was a manager coming to observe one of my cover classes. Having had some excellent classes, this was of course a bit of a mess. Only three people came - it is Military/Men's Day (this is synonymous because of Belarus, like Russian, has national service) - and one of them was in a difficult mood, chewing gum, answering questions monosyllabically and generally being a lout. My organisation was rather challenged by all this and I gather from subsequent discussion that I need to adjust my teaching methods more generally.
Whereas Russians like grammatically based lessons, where I graft discussions around this core, Belarusians are used to having more group-oriented discussion sessions, with grammar as the add-on. From my observations, and from the comments of one of my Russian colleagues, this has both advantages and disadvantages. The students are far more fluent in their conversations in English than their Russian contemporaries, but also tend to make egregrious grammatical errors with abandon.
Tired from this rather difficult evening session, I headed for home, looking forward to settling down to tea, a read and bed. This gradually changed with what turned out to be the third visit. A portly gentleman with a swarthy complexion was struggling to get into the house. I asked him to wait and used my key fob to get in. "My brother lives here", he said. "Oh good" I say. My heart sank when he pressed the lift button for my floor and then he insisted on my visiting his brother. I find myself at table with four Armenians, three men and their 'big sister', a woman with her hair dyed bright red. I was chu-chued into having a bowl of what turned out to be fish-head soup, my least favourite. Then down went three glasses of vodka mixed with red berry tea.
(Russian) "What do you think of that?"
(English) "Rotgut."
(Russian) "It was made by Svetlana."
(English) "She ought to be ashamed of herself."
And eventually to sleep before my landlord turned up early the next morning to help with my visa extension.
When I say help, this was a recovery job. Fortunately, the OVIR, the internal administration department were in a mood to extend my visa. Less fortunate was granting it for a month less than my contract with the landlord of my flat. It turned out that my landlady had intended the end of July but had drawn up a contract for the 31/06. As I didn't want to assume that this might mean an end of contract that would never come - there being no June 31st in any year, we had to reapply. Fortunately, I found that the OVIR had also put 31/06 on my visa. Therein lay my salvation. As has been previously noted, the OVIR care not for the applicant's personal inconvenience. They would almost certainly have told us to go away in the normal run of things. In this case, however, the embarrassment of having themselves endorsed a daft visa extension means that they have undertaken to sort mine out properly. Hurrah for bureaucracy! Postscript: I've just had a phone call to tell me that my visa extension has now been successfully completed.
In short, there are some strange mental currents swirling around, heading from west to east and often back again. A bit like Professor Dawkins' memes, I suppose. I find it very disturbing. Whereas contemporary debates and disagreements about race, religion, etc have often been based upon historical interpretations, statistics or differing views of assimilation, we currently seem to be beset by viral perceptions with little logical basis. In Siberia, I also had people telling me about English comments about no longer living in a white country. I hope I'm wrong, but I rather think that Hitlerite pseudoarguments can arise from this sort of thing. Oh dear, I think I'm getting pessimistic.
On the optimistic side, last week I visited Minsk's Museum of the Great Patriotic War (1941-1945 - I know this is divisive from a western point of view, but then 1939-1945 is misleading from an Ethiopian or Chinese [or Spanish?] perspective). Most of this was devoted to the Soviet war effort and more specifically the Belarusian contribution. Belarus lost about 30% of its people and had 70% of its towns and villages destroyed (Minsk itself has few prewar buildings), partly because of its genuinely impressive contribution to the war effort (including Jews who escaped from the Minsk ghetto to fight as partisans) and partly because the country was dedicated to the Mein Kampf idea of an agrarian expansion of Germany with all the 'clearance' that that implied.
The western contribution merely consists of a diagram of the Normandy invasion tucked away in the victory story part of the museum and a picture of 'Anglo-American' troops coming off the landing boats onto the beach.
Some of the museum is spectacular. A German tank emerges through one of the walls.
There is a small room in the museum which treats of atrocities to civilians. There are a limited number of exhibits, most of them photographs, but they are chosen with devastating effect. Some of it pertains to Belarusians' sufferings. A young blonde woman, presumably part of the resistance, is shown in before and after mode, being hanged in public. An elderly couple are seen opposite each other, hanging from what is presumably their own living room. A German soldier laughs heartily as another victim hangs from a tree. Other photographs show Jews behind stockades awaiting their fate. One photo shows bodies lying together on a wooden floor, so emaciated that they look like plastic homunculi.
I get to my point: School children are regular visitors to the museum. I saw several such visitations during my few hours there. The room of terror, including and especially the section that treats of Jewish suffering, is given particular attention by teachers, and young people here learn a considerable amount about this aspect of the war.
In general, I notice rather a different attitude in Belarus to the nationalism I found in most Russian young people (who I still think of with affection by the way). In Belarus, patriotism is there. They try to foster their dying language and look at Belarusian history as such, but their patriotism is infused with an understanding of history and a keen interest on political developments in the west. Most also seem liberal in their views on race. I've seen people from Africa and Asia on the streets. My discussion with a Nigerian medical student (it is cheaper to study here than in Russia) confirmed my view of this. He generally considered the people to be rather reasonable in their attitudes and had had very little concerns over his time here. Room for optimism here.
On to the second visit. This was a manager coming to observe one of my cover classes. Having had some excellent classes, this was of course a bit of a mess. Only three people came - it is Military/Men's Day (this is synonymous because of Belarus, like Russian, has national service) - and one of them was in a difficult mood, chewing gum, answering questions monosyllabically and generally being a lout. My organisation was rather challenged by all this and I gather from subsequent discussion that I need to adjust my teaching methods more generally.
Whereas Russians like grammatically based lessons, where I graft discussions around this core, Belarusians are used to having more group-oriented discussion sessions, with grammar as the add-on. From my observations, and from the comments of one of my Russian colleagues, this has both advantages and disadvantages. The students are far more fluent in their conversations in English than their Russian contemporaries, but also tend to make egregrious grammatical errors with abandon.
Tired from this rather difficult evening session, I headed for home, looking forward to settling down to tea, a read and bed. This gradually changed with what turned out to be the third visit. A portly gentleman with a swarthy complexion was struggling to get into the house. I asked him to wait and used my key fob to get in. "My brother lives here", he said. "Oh good" I say. My heart sank when he pressed the lift button for my floor and then he insisted on my visiting his brother. I find myself at table with four Armenians, three men and their 'big sister', a woman with her hair dyed bright red. I was chu-chued into having a bowl of what turned out to be fish-head soup, my least favourite. Then down went three glasses of vodka mixed with red berry tea.
(Russian) "What do you think of that?"
(English) "Rotgut."
(Russian) "It was made by Svetlana."
(English) "She ought to be ashamed of herself."
And eventually to sleep before my landlord turned up early the next morning to help with my visa extension.
When I say help, this was a recovery job. Fortunately, the OVIR, the internal administration department were in a mood to extend my visa. Less fortunate was granting it for a month less than my contract with the landlord of my flat. It turned out that my landlady had intended the end of July but had drawn up a contract for the 31/06. As I didn't want to assume that this might mean an end of contract that would never come - there being no June 31st in any year, we had to reapply. Fortunately, I found that the OVIR had also put 31/06 on my visa. Therein lay my salvation. As has been previously noted, the OVIR care not for the applicant's personal inconvenience. They would almost certainly have told us to go away in the normal run of things. In this case, however, the embarrassment of having themselves endorsed a daft visa extension means that they have undertaken to sort mine out properly. Hurrah for bureaucracy! Postscript: I've just had a phone call to tell me that my visa extension has now been successfully completed.
16/02: midnight in Minsk
I'm hurriedly typing as I've only got a few minutes left of my hour at the keyboard. My own internet at home is off and I'm waiting for new service to be installed on Friday morning. So here I am at the Soyuz Online Cafe, at midnight in Minsk city centre. First I went looking for an internet near where I lived, which was closed. A group of young men meeting in the street around a beer (it is snowing, by the way) were very friendly and helpful: go to the central metro station ('October') and find the tank. At October, I saw various people in the subway, but hesitated to ask. Some were affectionate drunks and the others were young deaf people signing away at each other (I have enough trouble communicating with English deaf people). The first couple I met coming into the metro, people in their twenties, pointed across a park. Then, behind a tank, is the Soyuz. As well as the banks of computers, there is a bar, interesting western rock music redone with 'church voices' and tables with young people necking beer and laughing. If it wasn't for needing to go to bed sometime, I'd hang around. It's a nice city to hang around in.
16/02: getting around Minsk
Minsk has an unimpressive looking but perfectly functional metro, with just two lines. There is usually about a four minute wait for trains in the daytime and maybe eight minutes in the evening. It is one of the signs of the locals' courtesy that the average Minskonian (actually, Minchunin singular, Minchunya plural, emphasis on second syllable in both cases) glances back when pushing through the glass doors to the outlying subway, so as not to let them slam into the face of the next person. Similarly, unlike many Russians, these are people who will stamp the snow off their shoes before entering public as well as private buildings. And they almost invariably help strangers who don't know where they are.
The dreaded maschrutka - a private minibus used as a cross between a public service bus and a rehearsal for cross-country rallying - is only seen in the centre of the city if it is due to service the outer suburbs or the outlying villages. In addition to the metro, the city is provided for by quite modern single-decker buses, trolleybuses and some trams. As I live within walking distance of my administrative office, I would probably save money by using cash when I need to, but paying a mere nine pounds for a month's unlimited travel on bus, trolley and metro is irresistable.
I'm lucky to be living just a couple of minutes walk from a metro. My street is Maxima Tanka. Now yes, I thought that Maxim Tank was some iconic war machine that I somehow hadn't heard of on World at War. In fact, Wikipedia tells me that Maxim Tank was the nom de plume of a Belarusian poet and translator.
Which reminds me: the Belarusianising of post-Soviet Minsk does make life difficult for the newcomer. Metro stations have Russian names on some maps and signs and Belarusian ones on more recent signs. The main street has been renamed completely. Originally named after the first Belarusian printer and one of the first publishers in eastern Europe, Francysk Skarina, it is now Independence Street. As is usual, most locals use the old name, making life more difficult.
More difficult for me however is the proliferation of keys required to get into my building, originally designed as a block of flats for the elite but now split up into one room flatlets. First there's the electronic key fob to get into the house. At the fourth floor (third in Britspeak, as they don't use the term ground floor), by lift or stairs, I then need to jiggle one key a lot to get into the residential area away from the staircase and lift. Then to my half of the area, I need another key. Then I need two keys to get into my own flat. Must sit down and have a cup of tea.
As will be noted from the photos, there is a fair amount of snow about. The first image is the river Nyemiga, near the city centre, iced up. The locals are used to about three weeks of cold weather, by the way, but this spell of several months is unusual in this country.
The dreaded maschrutka - a private minibus used as a cross between a public service bus and a rehearsal for cross-country rallying - is only seen in the centre of the city if it is due to service the outer suburbs or the outlying villages. In addition to the metro, the city is provided for by quite modern single-decker buses, trolleybuses and some trams. As I live within walking distance of my administrative office, I would probably save money by using cash when I need to, but paying a mere nine pounds for a month's unlimited travel on bus, trolley and metro is irresistable.
I'm lucky to be living just a couple of minutes walk from a metro. My street is Maxima Tanka. Now yes, I thought that Maxim Tank was some iconic war machine that I somehow hadn't heard of on World at War. In fact, Wikipedia tells me that Maxim Tank was the nom de plume of a Belarusian poet and translator.
Which reminds me: the Belarusianising of post-Soviet Minsk does make life difficult for the newcomer. Metro stations have Russian names on some maps and signs and Belarusian ones on more recent signs. The main street has been renamed completely. Originally named after the first Belarusian printer and one of the first publishers in eastern Europe, Francysk Skarina, it is now Independence Street. As is usual, most locals use the old name, making life more difficult.
More difficult for me however is the proliferation of keys required to get into my building, originally designed as a block of flats for the elite but now split up into one room flatlets. First there's the electronic key fob to get into the house. At the fourth floor (third in Britspeak, as they don't use the term ground floor), by lift or stairs, I then need to jiggle one key a lot to get into the residential area away from the staircase and lift. Then to my half of the area, I need another key. Then I need two keys to get into my own flat. Must sit down and have a cup of tea.
As will be noted from the photos, there is a fair amount of snow about. The first image is the river Nyemiga, near the city centre, iced up. The locals are used to about three weeks of cold weather, by the way, but this spell of several months is unusual in this country.
11/02: Of death and architecture
Most of Minsk was destroyed during the second world war. It is estimated that between 25% and 30% of the population of Belarus perished and that 70% of the towns and villages were completely destroyed. It should be remembered that even as far back as Mein Kampf, Hitler had dreamt of an east largely denuded for the purposes of expanding an idyllic agrarian colony.
As a centre for Soviet partisan fighting behind enemy lines, Minsk received 'hero city' status and was rebuilt on an heroic scale. The monumentalism is not to everybody's taste, however. I think the conversation went something like this:
"Comrade, do you know Buckingham Palace?"
"Of course, comrade. Where do you want it located?"
"Everywhere."
"Er, ok, anything else?"
"Yes, throw in a few parthenons just to show we've arrived."
"Oh, all right."
Just to show that they can do new too, here is the National Library of Belarus,
at which I am a member, with 'Certificated Specialist' status. Pretty cool for a bloke who just looks at the 'learn Russian' books.
Behind a big church there is a large graceful mini-town built around a square. The gleaming white of all of the buildings is the give-away: the 'old town' is in fact a post-war restoration. The only genuine pre-war part of Minsk centre is a thin sliver of buildings which reminds one most of a small French town.
Within walking distance is my flat, near a nondescript metro centre. This turns out to be on the edge of what was the Minsk ghetto. I recently taught at a school within the ghetto area. All of the area is now an estate of modern blocks of flats.
About 20,000 Jews were murdered in the first few months of the Nazi occupation. More tens of thousands were to be killed subsequently, before the surviving few thousand joined the final solution via the death camp at Sobibor.
Unlike Ukraine and Latvia, Belarus did not collaborate or sympathise with the Nazis. The Minsk ghetto is particularly known for its large scale resistance, with thousands of Jews escaping from the ghetto to join partisan groups, Jewish and non-Jewish, later cooperating with the Red Army.
As a centre for Soviet partisan fighting behind enemy lines, Minsk received 'hero city' status and was rebuilt on an heroic scale. The monumentalism is not to everybody's taste, however. I think the conversation went something like this:
"Comrade, do you know Buckingham Palace?"
"Of course, comrade. Where do you want it located?"
"Everywhere."
"Er, ok, anything else?"
"Yes, throw in a few parthenons just to show we've arrived."
"Oh, all right."
Just to show that they can do new too, here is the National Library of Belarus,
at which I am a member, with 'Certificated Specialist' status. Pretty cool for a bloke who just looks at the 'learn Russian' books.
Behind a big church there is a large graceful mini-town built around a square. The gleaming white of all of the buildings is the give-away: the 'old town' is in fact a post-war restoration. The only genuine pre-war part of Minsk centre is a thin sliver of buildings which reminds one most of a small French town.
Within walking distance is my flat, near a nondescript metro centre. This turns out to be on the edge of what was the Minsk ghetto. I recently taught at a school within the ghetto area. All of the area is now an estate of modern blocks of flats.
About 20,000 Jews were murdered in the first few months of the Nazi occupation. More tens of thousands were to be killed subsequently, before the surviving few thousand joined the final solution via the death camp at Sobibor.
Unlike Ukraine and Latvia, Belarus did not collaborate or sympathise with the Nazis. The Minsk ghetto is particularly known for its large scale resistance, with thousands of Jews escaping from the ghetto to join partisan groups, Jewish and non-Jewish, later cooperating with the Red Army.
01/02: Losing weight the Davis way
My journey started auspiciously. Having breezed in from Cricklewood railway station to Farringdon, preparing to use the same platform to continue to Gatwick, I found that my connecting train was cancelled as somebody had elected to end their life in front of it. So I had to drag my kit hastily to Victoria to catch an alternative train.
My flight via Riga using Baltic Airways was uneventful. Having said that, the aeroplane's food had to be paid for and they only really wanted to deal in Latvian currency, in spite of having taken off from Gatwick. As I didn't want to use my credit cards in a comparatively insecure setting, I opted to tighten my belt. At Riga, we were rushed round to the connecting terminal at bewildering speed, and the snack bar was of course only taking Latvian money. The two different buses were only separated by the obligatory security check. Checks nowadays include a scanning of laptop computers; I thought that this was due given the obvious potential for embedding different types of mechanism inside a metal housing. Food wasn't available on the next flight, so I had a golden opportunity to get rid of some of those festive calories. The flight from Riga to Minsk, being only a short hop, didn't offer food, and even the tea required Latvian money. My impression of Baltic Airways as something of a no-frills job was reinforced by the plane, a Fokker 50 replete with propellers attached to each wing and ashtrays by each seat. This was, however, a no smoking aircraft, although given the state of one or two of the passengers, it wasn't a no drinking craft.
As I emerged from Minsk airport, I was besieged by taxi drivers. I demurred, saying that I was catching the bus into the centre. One particularly enterprising driver followed me, saying that he would take me to my destination at a bargain price of forty dollars. Having already done my research, I knew that the going price was twenty-five dollars, so I was beginning to go off this particular entrepreneur. My favourable impression deepened when he told me that the bus wouldn't come for another hour, which proved to be another lie. After a short wait in subzero temperatures (I would guess about minus ten Celsius), the bus came. My new friend approached the bus driver, no doubt to give him the impression that I was a difficult passenger.
This situation was made just that little bit more difficult by a piece of advice I had been given from two separate sources before I left the UK, that I didn't need to convert my Siberian savings into Belorussian roubles. According to the sages, people in Minsk would be willing to take dollars or my Russian roubles. This advice, however, had not been given to the bus driver, who of course wanted Belorussian roubles. (My taxi driver would have taken Russian roubles or pounds for sure, given the massive profit he would have made on me.) Fortunately, some helpful people on the bus explained to the driver that the five pound note that I was offering him was worth three times more than the fare he had demanded. One of my assistants also bought me a 'zheton', a token for the metro (worth 600 hundred Belorussian roubles, maybe about 13 pence). People here, if one exempts taxi drivers and officials, are really rather helpful.
After a brief wait when I emerged at the metro - Minsk has only two, intersecting, lines, with the zheton allowing a single journey of any distance within the network - I trudged for about ten minutes through the snow to my new accommodation. It was after ten o'clock in the evening when my morning meal of cereal and milk was supplemented by a truly Belarussian meal. I ate a salad of cabbage, mushrooms and sweetcorn, rissoles of unknown content, a glass of keffir (fermented milk, I think) and chunks of salted apple, a Belorussian speciality which is really rather tasty.
The next day, involving a search for accommodation, was another occasion for only eating breakfast and dinner. Linking up with estate agents and like involves periods of waiting around - "don't move from where you are" - to then moving in a hurry across the city, without time to settle down for lunch or even a pie. The first day was rather wasted, as the realtors had ignored my specific request (mainly having the internet available, as I wish to conduct business online in addition to the part-time teaching I'm doing here). The following day, I took control and was given the details of a different letting agent. Although this did lead to success - a one bedroom flat in the city centre - I was once again without lunch.
Friday, three days after my arrival, was an occasion for using my new address to register my visa with the authorities. More "don't move until we told you" and yes, no lunch. In the late afternoon, I was desperately searching for a Belorussian national bank in the locality of my flat which would sell me a voucher necessary for my visit to the OVIR, the registration office. As previously, I was rescued by a complete stranger in the street, who spoke fluent Russian and English (apparently not common in Minsk) and also had a thorough knowledge of the registration process.
The voucher being paid for, I met up with my landlord in the early evening and was driven to the OVIR. We were greeted by an official who sat with a fur wrapped around her shoulders, whose every action betrayed a desire not to be in the office that evening. I was told in no uncertain terms that my application was a day late. I explained that I had only entered Minsk in the late evening on Tuesday and that as this was only Friday, I had acted within three days. Unlike in Russia, however, where applicants have three clear working days after arrival to get their visas registered, it transpired that the day of arrival was deemed to be Day 1. We were given a bit of a question and answer session and had to pass my documents to the official twice - "passport!" - and were then given a rather difficult form to fill in, before finally being given the stamp of approval. Clearly, the 'back in the USSR' impression that Russians have of modern Belarus is not just a matter of nostalgia; an almost impenetrable administration goes with it. Although my landlord assures me that the system was far more difficult a few years ago..
After going off to observe a fellow Englishman conducting a couple of conversational classes, the two of us walked through the snow to find a cafe which served beer. As well as finally topping up breakfast with a bar meal, I tucked in to two tall glasses of a rather excellent black beer. With some regret, I negotiated the metro and reached my host house at five past twelve at night. Over the weekend, my hosts have been working, so I have been engaged in preparing my conversation classes for the coming week, a list of conversational topics for the next few weeks, and this blog.
My flight via Riga using Baltic Airways was uneventful. Having said that, the aeroplane's food had to be paid for and they only really wanted to deal in Latvian currency, in spite of having taken off from Gatwick. As I didn't want to use my credit cards in a comparatively insecure setting, I opted to tighten my belt. At Riga, we were rushed round to the connecting terminal at bewildering speed, and the snack bar was of course only taking Latvian money. The two different buses were only separated by the obligatory security check. Checks nowadays include a scanning of laptop computers; I thought that this was due given the obvious potential for embedding different types of mechanism inside a metal housing. Food wasn't available on the next flight, so I had a golden opportunity to get rid of some of those festive calories. The flight from Riga to Minsk, being only a short hop, didn't offer food, and even the tea required Latvian money. My impression of Baltic Airways as something of a no-frills job was reinforced by the plane, a Fokker 50 replete with propellers attached to each wing and ashtrays by each seat. This was, however, a no smoking aircraft, although given the state of one or two of the passengers, it wasn't a no drinking craft.
As I emerged from Minsk airport, I was besieged by taxi drivers. I demurred, saying that I was catching the bus into the centre. One particularly enterprising driver followed me, saying that he would take me to my destination at a bargain price of forty dollars. Having already done my research, I knew that the going price was twenty-five dollars, so I was beginning to go off this particular entrepreneur. My favourable impression deepened when he told me that the bus wouldn't come for another hour, which proved to be another lie. After a short wait in subzero temperatures (I would guess about minus ten Celsius), the bus came. My new friend approached the bus driver, no doubt to give him the impression that I was a difficult passenger.
This situation was made just that little bit more difficult by a piece of advice I had been given from two separate sources before I left the UK, that I didn't need to convert my Siberian savings into Belorussian roubles. According to the sages, people in Minsk would be willing to take dollars or my Russian roubles. This advice, however, had not been given to the bus driver, who of course wanted Belorussian roubles. (My taxi driver would have taken Russian roubles or pounds for sure, given the massive profit he would have made on me.) Fortunately, some helpful people on the bus explained to the driver that the five pound note that I was offering him was worth three times more than the fare he had demanded. One of my assistants also bought me a 'zheton', a token for the metro (worth 600 hundred Belorussian roubles, maybe about 13 pence). People here, if one exempts taxi drivers and officials, are really rather helpful.
After a brief wait when I emerged at the metro - Minsk has only two, intersecting, lines, with the zheton allowing a single journey of any distance within the network - I trudged for about ten minutes through the snow to my new accommodation. It was after ten o'clock in the evening when my morning meal of cereal and milk was supplemented by a truly Belarussian meal. I ate a salad of cabbage, mushrooms and sweetcorn, rissoles of unknown content, a glass of keffir (fermented milk, I think) and chunks of salted apple, a Belorussian speciality which is really rather tasty.
The next day, involving a search for accommodation, was another occasion for only eating breakfast and dinner. Linking up with estate agents and like involves periods of waiting around - "don't move from where you are" - to then moving in a hurry across the city, without time to settle down for lunch or even a pie. The first day was rather wasted, as the realtors had ignored my specific request (mainly having the internet available, as I wish to conduct business online in addition to the part-time teaching I'm doing here). The following day, I took control and was given the details of a different letting agent. Although this did lead to success - a one bedroom flat in the city centre - I was once again without lunch.
Friday, three days after my arrival, was an occasion for using my new address to register my visa with the authorities. More "don't move until we told you" and yes, no lunch. In the late afternoon, I was desperately searching for a Belorussian national bank in the locality of my flat which would sell me a voucher necessary for my visit to the OVIR, the registration office. As previously, I was rescued by a complete stranger in the street, who spoke fluent Russian and English (apparently not common in Minsk) and also had a thorough knowledge of the registration process.
The voucher being paid for, I met up with my landlord in the early evening and was driven to the OVIR. We were greeted by an official who sat with a fur wrapped around her shoulders, whose every action betrayed a desire not to be in the office that evening. I was told in no uncertain terms that my application was a day late. I explained that I had only entered Minsk in the late evening on Tuesday and that as this was only Friday, I had acted within three days. Unlike in Russia, however, where applicants have three clear working days after arrival to get their visas registered, it transpired that the day of arrival was deemed to be Day 1. We were given a bit of a question and answer session and had to pass my documents to the official twice - "passport!" - and were then given a rather difficult form to fill in, before finally being given the stamp of approval. Clearly, the 'back in the USSR' impression that Russians have of modern Belarus is not just a matter of nostalgia; an almost impenetrable administration goes with it. Although my landlord assures me that the system was far more difficult a few years ago..
After going off to observe a fellow Englishman conducting a couple of conversational classes, the two of us walked through the snow to find a cafe which served beer. As well as finally topping up breakfast with a bar meal, I tucked in to two tall glasses of a rather excellent black beer. With some regret, I negotiated the metro and reached my host house at five past twelve at night. Over the weekend, my hosts have been working, so I have been engaged in preparing my conversation classes for the coming week, a list of conversational topics for the next few weeks, and this blog.
14/12: fatalities and farewells
This might be my last blog before I return, at least temporarily, to Blighty.
As you will no doubt have noticed, there have been two major disasters in Russia recently. One, involving the use of fireworks in an overcrowded Perm night club, has an as yet unknown death toll. Somebody I know who used to live there and is quite upset about it all, tells me
that the current number, 140, is strictly provisional as the health status of many people is described as critical. The shadow of corruption hangs over this affair, as a strict inspection regime exists but is seen to fail again and again.
My contact agrees with me about another health and safety problem, that of the marzhrutkas, converted minibuses that ply their trade in every urban area. As I've noted before, they handle money again and again in while driving. Those of us who try to hand over our money at
bus stops are seen as a wee bit quaint and it is not unusual to see drivers making calculations while driving over the icy roads at top speed.
Not everything is down to negligence, however. I gather from a British contact that a BBC correspondent covering the fatal train derailment between Russia and St Petersburg was scorning Russian government claims of terrorism as a smokescreen against neglect. I think this
unlikely. WHenever I travel by train, the wheels are checked at almost every major stop and I think the lines are also much better maintained than those in Britain. Russian trains have to cope with extremes of temperature throughout the year and the rail system is seen as of the
greatest importance in this sprawling transcontinental empire. It is of course its multiethnic nature, with huge numbers of muslim citizens that made it likely that an extreme Islamic organisation would eventually claim responsibility for blowing up the line.
The fact remains that most of Russia is white and Christian Orthodox. One effect of this is that much of what westerners see on a map of Asia does not in fact look like it on the ground. Cities and towns such as Novosibirsk and Berdsk can be found in Europe and, if a person materialised in such a city without information, he or she would be hard pushed to know if the location was in the west or the east.
Orthodoxy, however, has an interesting effect on people. I was discussing accents with somebody I know. Britain has hundreds, some of them incomprehensible to most Britons. Russia has three variations. When I mentioned my theory that some of this was to do with the sheer modernity of Siberia, which was only settled over the last few hundred years (Novosibirsk only in the twentieth
century) and he suggested that this was the effect of communist russification of education, my argument took me to a Britain where settlements had existed 'before Jesus Christ'. To which he said, 'how can this be? Jesus started it all'. Not even the most fervent C of E or Catholic English Christian would say this. As with most muslims, orthodoxy, at least as practised in Russia,
is obscurantist. Whereas most muslims of all nations are encouraged to learn the Koran in Arabic, the language of the church is in Old Slavonic. In the case of both religion, adherents do not know anything of the history of their religion.
I will miss my companion, however. Just as I contributed to the English club, for the benefit of most Russians, he steadfastly maintained what was the Russian club and is now called the International Club, for the benefit of visitors to Novosibirsk. I keep him anonymous as the change of name was not incidental and represents his resistance to a rather niggardly attitude to foreigners by some members of the authorities. He is feeling a bit bereft at the moment, as I am not the only person heading
for home at the moment. Swedes, Koreans, the only Englishwoman seen in these parts for many a year,
are all going home.
I'll be in Belarus, in the city of Minsk. For obvious reasons, many insights into this country will not appear here. It ain't encouraged. I will merely say that there are mixed feelings. For every westerner who cries tyranny, there is a Russian or Belorussian (white Russian) who sees socialism as a means of protecting people from the upheavals of the last two decades in unequal Russia.
Meanwhile, I'm saying goodbye to Berdsk. Before settling myself down to another week's work, I went to the cinema. The billing said something about people's history but it turned out to be a version of Dickens' Christmas Carol (English literature is mainly represented by Dickens and Arthur Conan Doyle in much of this country). This was a Disney film with the likes of Bob Hoskins amongst the cast. Scrooge was played by a man who varied in his facial expressions from that of Wilfrid Brambell's Albert Steptoe to that of Spike Milligan's Spike Milligan. It always annoys me when people like John Travolta and
Bob Hoskins all seem to speak much better Russian than I do, I thought as I walked away from the cinema across Ploshad Gorkova (Gorky Square).
The square is full of cubes of ice, large and small, presumably to be turned into statues and possibly
some architectural structures. Some hardy young children slid on trays down a specially constructed piste made of ice. The temperature is now minus 18 with a wind and I think temperatures are expected to stay low for many months. Which reminds me: any more outings of more than fifteen minutes will require two pairs of socks now. My toes were becoming rather numb during today's outings.
One of the joys of finishing a long tour of duty in another country is the giving away of books and other things which would be too heavy to be taken back. I was able to find good homes both for my computing books and various novels. Quite what the fans of English literature will make of R. K. Narayan and Iris Murdoch is anybody's guess.
As you will no doubt have noticed, there have been two major disasters in Russia recently. One, involving the use of fireworks in an overcrowded Perm night club, has an as yet unknown death toll. Somebody I know who used to live there and is quite upset about it all, tells me
that the current number, 140, is strictly provisional as the health status of many people is described as critical. The shadow of corruption hangs over this affair, as a strict inspection regime exists but is seen to fail again and again.
My contact agrees with me about another health and safety problem, that of the marzhrutkas, converted minibuses that ply their trade in every urban area. As I've noted before, they handle money again and again in while driving. Those of us who try to hand over our money at
bus stops are seen as a wee bit quaint and it is not unusual to see drivers making calculations while driving over the icy roads at top speed.
Not everything is down to negligence, however. I gather from a British contact that a BBC correspondent covering the fatal train derailment between Russia and St Petersburg was scorning Russian government claims of terrorism as a smokescreen against neglect. I think this
unlikely. WHenever I travel by train, the wheels are checked at almost every major stop and I think the lines are also much better maintained than those in Britain. Russian trains have to cope with extremes of temperature throughout the year and the rail system is seen as of the
greatest importance in this sprawling transcontinental empire. It is of course its multiethnic nature, with huge numbers of muslim citizens that made it likely that an extreme Islamic organisation would eventually claim responsibility for blowing up the line.
The fact remains that most of Russia is white and Christian Orthodox. One effect of this is that much of what westerners see on a map of Asia does not in fact look like it on the ground. Cities and towns such as Novosibirsk and Berdsk can be found in Europe and, if a person materialised in such a city without information, he or she would be hard pushed to know if the location was in the west or the east.
Orthodoxy, however, has an interesting effect on people. I was discussing accents with somebody I know. Britain has hundreds, some of them incomprehensible to most Britons. Russia has three variations. When I mentioned my theory that some of this was to do with the sheer modernity of Siberia, which was only settled over the last few hundred years (Novosibirsk only in the twentieth
century) and he suggested that this was the effect of communist russification of education, my argument took me to a Britain where settlements had existed 'before Jesus Christ'. To which he said, 'how can this be? Jesus started it all'. Not even the most fervent C of E or Catholic English Christian would say this. As with most muslims, orthodoxy, at least as practised in Russia,
is obscurantist. Whereas most muslims of all nations are encouraged to learn the Koran in Arabic, the language of the church is in Old Slavonic. In the case of both religion, adherents do not know anything of the history of their religion.
I will miss my companion, however. Just as I contributed to the English club, for the benefit of most Russians, he steadfastly maintained what was the Russian club and is now called the International Club, for the benefit of visitors to Novosibirsk. I keep him anonymous as the change of name was not incidental and represents his resistance to a rather niggardly attitude to foreigners by some members of the authorities. He is feeling a bit bereft at the moment, as I am not the only person heading
for home at the moment. Swedes, Koreans, the only Englishwoman seen in these parts for many a year,
are all going home.
I'll be in Belarus, in the city of Minsk. For obvious reasons, many insights into this country will not appear here. It ain't encouraged. I will merely say that there are mixed feelings. For every westerner who cries tyranny, there is a Russian or Belorussian (white Russian) who sees socialism as a means of protecting people from the upheavals of the last two decades in unequal Russia.
Meanwhile, I'm saying goodbye to Berdsk. Before settling myself down to another week's work, I went to the cinema. The billing said something about people's history but it turned out to be a version of Dickens' Christmas Carol (English literature is mainly represented by Dickens and Arthur Conan Doyle in much of this country). This was a Disney film with the likes of Bob Hoskins amongst the cast. Scrooge was played by a man who varied in his facial expressions from that of Wilfrid Brambell's Albert Steptoe to that of Spike Milligan's Spike Milligan. It always annoys me when people like John Travolta and
Bob Hoskins all seem to speak much better Russian than I do, I thought as I walked away from the cinema across Ploshad Gorkova (Gorky Square).
The square is full of cubes of ice, large and small, presumably to be turned into statues and possibly
some architectural structures. Some hardy young children slid on trays down a specially constructed piste made of ice. The temperature is now minus 18 with a wind and I think temperatures are expected to stay low for many months. Which reminds me: any more outings of more than fifteen minutes will require two pairs of socks now. My toes were becoming rather numb during today's outings.
One of the joys of finishing a long tour of duty in another country is the giving away of books and other things which would be too heavy to be taken back. I was able to find good homes both for my computing books and various novels. Quite what the fans of English literature will make of R. K. Narayan and Iris Murdoch is anybody's guess.
29/11: in the darkling wood
Over the last few months, I have omitted to mention one of the most pleasing things about living here. When the weekend comes, and I contribute to the university English club, and I participate in my stumbling uncomprehending way in the Russian Club. The latter was banned because of its assistance to foreigners unattached to the university. It has a new name and a different room and its still open. Well done that unpaid volunteer. He is a symbol of everything that is free and open-minded about Russia. When I think about many of the things I don't like around here, I always remember him and the companionship of the young students (and drop-outs and others) I see at the clubs.
Part of my enjoyment is leaving to one side the classroom and my noisy flat, getting on a marchrutka (minibus turned into public service bus) and walking through the wood to the university. I know that wandering through snowy woodland is not a uniquely Siberian experience, but it blows out the cobwebs and leaves me with a feeling of wonder. As the sun goes down, the slender trees are my companions amid a cottony backdrop. The path ahead of me is a gleaming white, a cinematic environment.
When I reach the university, I walk down a path between two white creatures, an upright dragon and a buddha, created out of snow by the students.
On Friday evening, I joined an English student of Russian who is here on an exchange and the Russian organiser mentioned earlier to plan a session of the Russian club based on British themes. The organiser, at my instigation, had previously introduced me to the psychology department where I had had a difficult time introducing my Russian version of CareerSteer. They had suggested a meeting first. I said that this would be a meeting about having a meeting and finally persuaded them to look at the web site. They understood what it was then and said that they would pass it to the Dean of psychology. In the subsequent Russian club meeting, my friend said, look, there's the Dean, do you want to meet her? and rushed down the stairs, with me limping in hot pursuit. It turned out that the Dean's colleagues had not passed her the information about my site so my friend saved the day. As so usual here, things get messed up in spite of all efforts to further them, but then good luck and kindness sort it out again.
A word of warning: don't buy bottles of Guinness if you happen to shop in Berdsk supermarkets. In spite of the labels claiming Dublin production, they contain Russian brown beer. It's potable, but isn't stout, let alone Guinness. At double the price of the local beer, somebody is enjoying a good mark-up.
Part of my enjoyment is leaving to one side the classroom and my noisy flat, getting on a marchrutka (minibus turned into public service bus) and walking through the wood to the university. I know that wandering through snowy woodland is not a uniquely Siberian experience, but it blows out the cobwebs and leaves me with a feeling of wonder. As the sun goes down, the slender trees are my companions amid a cottony backdrop. The path ahead of me is a gleaming white, a cinematic environment.
When I reach the university, I walk down a path between two white creatures, an upright dragon and a buddha, created out of snow by the students.
On Friday evening, I joined an English student of Russian who is here on an exchange and the Russian organiser mentioned earlier to plan a session of the Russian club based on British themes. The organiser, at my instigation, had previously introduced me to the psychology department where I had had a difficult time introducing my Russian version of CareerSteer. They had suggested a meeting first. I said that this would be a meeting about having a meeting and finally persuaded them to look at the web site. They understood what it was then and said that they would pass it to the Dean of psychology. In the subsequent Russian club meeting, my friend said, look, there's the Dean, do you want to meet her? and rushed down the stairs, with me limping in hot pursuit. It turned out that the Dean's colleagues had not passed her the information about my site so my friend saved the day. As so usual here, things get messed up in spite of all efforts to further them, but then good luck and kindness sort it out again.
A word of warning: don't buy bottles of Guinness if you happen to shop in Berdsk supermarkets. In spite of the labels claiming Dublin production, they contain Russian brown beer. It's potable, but isn't stout, let alone Guinness. At double the price of the local beer, somebody is enjoying a good mark-up.
21/11: Experience and observation
This old house is has been giving a full variety show of utility shut-offs this week. We've had a notice on the front door telling us that the electricity could be turned off at any time; it hasn't happened. However, standing in the shower, I've almost got boiled as they've turned the cold water off. Sometimes, the hot water has been turned off. Now my working week is over - it's Saturday morning - I've woken up to find that both the hot and cold water are off. A far cry from that ever so occasional day without a utility seen in England.
These days, I have a bowl of water sitting in the bath so that I can have a strip wash when required. This is very Russian. Other Russian habits include eating ice cream all year round. In the daytime, not only can you buy the stuff in a supermarket, but dedicated ice cream kiosks are open here in Berdsk, in minus temperatures. I ate a choc ice in minus 15 recently. Ok, but I still prefer it in the summer; I guess you can't take the Brit out of me that quickly.
I did a straw poll in a few classes of attitudes to caviar, known there as ikrah (emphasis on the second syllable). Everybody prefers red caviar, that rather fishier alternative to black, usually made from salmon or lumpfish or pike-perch. I think black ikrah may be eaten in the west more as a status symbol than anything else; I've always considered it to be rather salty, although I've never eaten the more expensive variants.
Most Russians may exercise thrift, but this does not extend to the environment. There is no recycling, although if you leave items outside the house, they will be picked by other people for re-use or resale. One of my students heard about protests against a third runway or whatever it is they're thinking of building at Heathrow and thinks Brits are the only people in Europe who worry about environmental problems. He's coming out with variations in the sun's rays when considering global warming and in common with many Russians is not at all perturbed by problems relating to waste or to the depletion of raw materials. In the latter case, it is because Russia has rather more than most, even if much of it is buried in the permafrost, although global warming and commodity prices are making these more accessible. The answer to most environmental questions is, 'Russia is a big country'.
These days, I have a bowl of water sitting in the bath so that I can have a strip wash when required. This is very Russian. Other Russian habits include eating ice cream all year round. In the daytime, not only can you buy the stuff in a supermarket, but dedicated ice cream kiosks are open here in Berdsk, in minus temperatures. I ate a choc ice in minus 15 recently. Ok, but I still prefer it in the summer; I guess you can't take the Brit out of me that quickly.
I did a straw poll in a few classes of attitudes to caviar, known there as ikrah (emphasis on the second syllable). Everybody prefers red caviar, that rather fishier alternative to black, usually made from salmon or lumpfish or pike-perch. I think black ikrah may be eaten in the west more as a status symbol than anything else; I've always considered it to be rather salty, although I've never eaten the more expensive variants.
Most Russians may exercise thrift, but this does not extend to the environment. There is no recycling, although if you leave items outside the house, they will be picked by other people for re-use or resale. One of my students heard about protests against a third runway or whatever it is they're thinking of building at Heathrow and thinks Brits are the only people in Europe who worry about environmental problems. He's coming out with variations in the sun's rays when considering global warming and in common with many Russians is not at all perturbed by problems relating to waste or to the depletion of raw materials. In the latter case, it is because Russia has rather more than most, even if much of it is buried in the permafrost, although global warming and commodity prices are making these more accessible. The answer to most environmental questions is, 'Russia is a big country'.