Fyodor on Tour

Today was a day of firsts. First time I tried to apply a bandage to anyone other than myself. Poor old Syoma’s had his claws removed and been neutered by the vet. He was asleep for most of Saturday and Sunday, and couldn’t walk even when he was awake. He just stared at his paws in bleary-eyed horror, probably hoping this was a nightmare. Today, though, I was surprised to hear a whining noise at the door to the kitchen as I made pancakes. Syoma had been roused and led to the kitchen by the smell, but his attempts to scratch on the door had ended painfully and unsuccessfully. He’d also done his best to bite out the stitches in his paws overnight, so he was walking around with loose bits of thread hanging from him and looked like a right mess. I felt so sorry for him that I almost gave him a bit of pancake, but, not knowing whether that would mess with some post-operation diet or something, I thought better of it. Instead, I poured all my energy into stopping him from pulling his...

This morning I went to a French society in a cafe in town. It seems I was a bit of a guest of honour, because I got a glowing introduction, and then I was asked to stand up and introduce myself to the group in French. Only now, standing before a group of professional French tutors, teachers, and translators, did I realise that trying to speak Russian for a month kinda pushes French out of your head. I can’t honestly say that nothing came out of my mouth, but I’m confident that whatever did wasn’t French. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but every now and again I’d catch myself mid-sentence speaking Russian, try to revert to French, and end up spluttering out some scraps of English. This was concerning partly because French has always been my ego-boost language, the one I remind myself I can sort of speak when I feel like a fool spending ten minutes trying to communicate to someone that I like dogs in Russian. But more worrying still was the fact that the introduction of French ...

1 October is, Aygul assures me, the time that Krasnoyarsk residents change the tyres on their cars. Normal tyres don’t cut it once the autumn kicks in here, you need to use special snow tyres. And the worrying implication of Aygul’s statement is that snow is expected any time from 1 October. This seems awfully soon to me, and just two days ago it would have been impossible to believe that we’d be going straight from our Indian summer (which, by the way, is called a ‘women’s summer’ in Russia, because… oh no wait that makes literally no sense) to the depths of a snowy winter. But yesterday temperatures dropped so low that I actually needed my coat for the first time since I arrived here, and today is one of those crisp, clear autumnal days that always seems to presage a spell of stinging cold. When I walked outside this morning, I saw the first patches of frost on the ground, and everyone was wrapped up in quilted coats and scarves. Within just over twenty-four hours, Kr...

In Russia , bus tickets have six numbers on them. If the sum of the first three is equivalent to the sum of the second three, it’s a lucky ticket. And if there is a difference of one between the sums of the first three and second three numbers, that means you’re going to meet someone new. Flawless logic imho. On Wednesday morning, I got my first lucky ticket. I wondered how exactly this luck would manifest itself. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what kind of luck I’d order if I got the choice. A free cinnamon bun would be very welcome. Or instant fluency in Russian. That would be nice too. Actually, I think this has been the most challenging aspect of my Year Abroad so far – I’ve got a whole year with no academic work and very few commitments, and I don’t know exactly what I want out of it. I mean I want a lot of things. I want to make friends for life in Krasnoyarsk, but do I want to just have fun with them or to try to learn Russian through them too? Or is the best way to ...

‘ You bought what?’ ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.’ Aygul’s face was a mixture of bafflement and anger. ‘You went to a Russian book shop and you got the first Harry Potter book?’ I shrugged. ‘I got the Russian translation.’ I passed Aygul the book. She scanned the first page and then threw it down with disgust. ‘It’s not even the good translation!’ Frankly, the translation doesn’t matter to me. I just find that reading a familiar text in another language helps you pick up some useful vocab. It’s more of a language exercise than simply reading for pleasure. I started the book last night, but found that I had to circle fifteen words that I didn’t know, so I went to sleep instead. When I left for work, I discovered that it’s still just about warm enough to walk outside without a coat. I decided to enjoy the last of the sunny weather and walk into work this morning, thinking all the while how excited I was to start reading Gary Potter (no jokes that’s Har...

After our big adventure over the weekend, Danil and I were shattered. We toyed with the idea of going home and getting an early night, but decided to go to a party in town instead. I knew nothing about the party other than the facts that it was a birthday and that I didn’t know the birthday girl. We arrived at a very swish restaurant, where there was a whole table reserved, and the party was in full swing. The table was groaning with food, and there were fifteen completely unfamiliar faces around it. I couldn’t help but feel like I was intruding slightly, but Danil introduced me to Tanya, the birthday girl, and soon I had a queue of people who wanted a photo with ‘the Englishman’. It’s great how popular being English makes you in Russia. I feel like they must have an incredibly misplaced idea of England, but I’m not going to shatter their illusions as long as turning up to a stranger’s party and saying ‘I’m an English gentleman’ makes you the guest of honour + designated selfie spot....

On the drive back from Chornaya Sopka, Alexey took us through a neighbour’s honey farm. There were rows and rows of little wooden hives, and a big artificial lake at the end of the track. We got out of the car to admire the lake, and noticed that there was what can only be described as a little floating bandstand bobbing up and down on it. ‘They like to sit out on the float and drink on summer evenings’, Danil explained. Then the owner of the farm came along and started chatting with Alexey. One of the first things he said was that he’d already had three encounters with bears on his farm this year. I suppose it’s not really surprising that a honey farm in the Siberian taiga might just attract some bears, but he painted his story in very vivid, dramatic terms. At one point, if I’m not mistaken, I think he said that a bear got him by the wrist, because he was definitely miming trying to wrest his hand free from some kind of grip. It seemed comically stereotypical to me, but I thought h...

I’m on a distinctly Soviet-feeling train, steadily clanking along a beautiful valley filled with autumnal red and yellow trees. The River Yenisei is on my left, sparkling in the setting sun. The train is taking me back to Krasnoyarsk after my first excursion into the Siberian wilderness. I didn’t write a blog yesterday. That’s because Danil (a friend from INTERRA) invited me to his parents’ dacha for the weekend. Dachas are small cottages in the countryside where Russians go to relax. Visiting people is quite a big deal in Russia, you’re really meant to bring your hosts a present, but I didn’t have time to go and get one. I still feel bad about that, looking back on how unbelievably generous their hospitality was. Hey ho, next time. Saturday started with the much-anticipated recycling festival. This had been hanging over my week like a huge storm cloud, so, naturally, I’d done nothing at all to prepare for it. I pulled myself out of bed at an unholy hour in the morning an...

At work today, Ira showed me a list of ‘six mistakes not to make when you’re in England’ that she found on a Russian website. She asked me how many of them were true. Here’s the list, see what you think: 1.        Don’t ask too many personal questions. 2.        Respect queues – nobody will confront you if you skip them, but you’ll get some aggy looks. 3.        Always buy entire rounds of drinks, it’s impolite to just buy one for yourself. 4.        Don’t call the whole of Great Britain England – especially to Welsh people. 5.        Don’t rent a car, just take public transport. You might forget to drive on the left. 6.        Don’t forget to say please and thank you! What do you reckon? I thought it was a really interesting insight into the Russian perception of Brits. Personally, I think n...

My bus ride into town this morning brought some abrupt reminders that I’m not in London. I decided to take a different bus today for the lols. I chose the 91, which turned out to be my favourite so far. The bus itself was a spacious old Mercedes with wood panelling on the inside, and no separate compartment for the driver. It was clearly an older bus than most of the others, but it was very up and together. Unlike the uniform, shiny buses in London, each different number of bus here has its own distinct character. The reliable 63 and 83 can be identified by their green paintwork; the 85 is always a new, supersized, white vehicle. The 91 had a kind of retro feel to me. But it’s not just the bus numbers which are different, it’s also the individual vehicles. Each driver is responsible for their own bus, so some of them have bunting along the windows, charms hanging from the lights, or flags in the windows. Some have air fresheners in the driver’s cabin, and others have icons on the das...