1 March 2011
It’s only been 24 hours since my last post and already I think I can nearly claim insanity on my travel insurance. Today, went to work, was warned about 3 children who are apparently really naughty. They were fine in my class – they started to play up a bit 50 minutes into the 1 hour lesson because they were tired and bored. Instead of responding badly to me only speaking English, they seemed fascinated and relished the extra stimulation. They also didn’t get as frustrated as I do when I can’t speak Russian. They knew they had to speak English to me or at least communicate somehow because they didn’t have a choice. They were great – I taught them about Australian animals – they loved the dangerous ones and the creepy crawlies- and then we sang heads and shoulders knees and toes. They thought it was very funny when we went so fast they couldn’t keep up.
Next class: I had been told that I was going to a school to have an individual lesson with a 15-year-old boy, pre-intermediate level who hadn’t studied the book before, but I would be told more this morning. I didn’t find out anymore this morning, until a man rocked up to the school to pick me up at half past 12 and told me that I was going to teach his 11-year-old daughter. I would go to his school. Although it’s across the road from a normal Russian high school (the one I went to yesterday, number 150) this school consists of 2 rooms and is basically a private tutoring company. There are two classrooms – one for the preschool/kindy kids and one for anyone who is school age to adults. They teach the preschool kids the alphabet, reading writing, basic maths etc and the adults English. They actually have an English teacher on staff, but these parents want a native speaker for their daughter. She used to go to a public Russian high school with about 28 pupils in the class but now she attends her parents’ school full time and is tutored on an individual basis for all her lessons. She starts class just after lunch and finishes at about 8pm. Personally, I’d feel really lonely – especially since you can see the public school across the street out her window, but she seems to be ok. She’s going to take the Cambridge KET exam in a couple of weeks. Her parents spoilt me rotten though – they picked me up, took my coat, gave me little medical booties to put on over my shoes so I wouldn’t muddy the floor and presented me with a tray of tea and biscuits. Then they took me home. They will, in turn, expect nothing less than the highest standard of professionalism from me, which is perfectly reasonable.
School no. 150 
Playing courts of school no. 150 
The whole school building – it’s all internal.
Came back to school, found some food (at the cafe) and decided that although my first impressions of the coffee here were good, I have changed my mind. It’s not good coffee – I was just being optimistic. Therefore, if anyone wants to send over Robert Timms coffee bags, they would be much appreciated. The honeymoon period also appears to be over and the serious culture shock seems to be setting in. I had a moment of wishing I could leave today, but it was just a little moment, and I can’t leave anyway – I’d get stuck in the middle of a frozen Siberian steppe – why do I choose to travel to these places?!
I received my final payment from Browns ELS today and wanted to transfer the money from my bank account to my travel money card. Though, of course, today was the day of the giant CBA computer glitch… though I don’t think it would have made any difference anyway. You see, I need a password to complete the transaction, that the CBA calls a Netcode and they send this code to my mobile phone. I changed my Sim card to roaming but I still couldn’t receive the password SMS. So I couldn’t put any money on the card. Then I tried to update my contact details with the bank, but to do that, I also needed a Netcode SMS. Consequently, I couldn’t update my contact details or transfer any money without a Netcode sms which I couldn’t receive because I was out of the country. Then I gave up and put my Russian sim card into my phone and discovered that I have a PIN code on my phone that I didn’t know about. I don’t have any of the paperwork for my Russian sim card – I gave it to the company as I was told to – I can’t read it anyway, so there’s not much point in me having it – or so I thought. The pin was on the sim card and I couldn’t get it because the girl who had my paperwork was out of her office. Finally, I found out what my pin was and told my phone that I didn’t want it any more (but to confirm this I had to enter my pin again) and I emailed the bank to say that their security system was so effective that I couldn’t access my own money.
Right…so at this point I was about to explode all over the office and let someone else clean up the mess. But I didn’t. I had a couple of hours until my next class and I desperately needed food at home (because last night I had two minute noodles, yoghurt and chocolate for dinner) and so I thought I’d got for a walk to explore some of the shops near work in the centre of the city. Here’s the thing about Russia: Just because a shopping centre has the word ‘Supermarket’ on the front of it, doesn’t mean there’s actually a supermarket inside. They can be tricky like that. It turns out, in this shopping centre were two shops that sold wedding dresses… one that only sold one type of perfume bottle and sanitary pads (WTF?) one shop that specialised in underwear, another that sold belts, hats gloves etc… a DVD shop… a chemist (where I got some vitamin D3 with calcium – she was really nice, but couldn’t understand why anyone would want to buy vitamin D without calcium – the Americans also told me that this combination of vitamins gives u kidney stones – is that true? Because I don’t really want kidney stones…) a place that sold stationery… etc. but no supermarket. Well I enjoyed my time there anyway, then slipped and skidded across the ice to a real supermarket that didn’t claim to be one – it’s called Krasnoiyar. I know. That’s why I didn’t guess that it was a supermarket till someone told me.
Update: After speaking to my friends who are from this part of the world, I discovered that in Russia the word “supermarket” can be used to refer to any type of shop that has products that you can select from shelves, and then carry to a checkout to pay. Traditional Russian stores have all the products behind a counter and you have to ask for what you want. ”Supermarkets” are Western.
It’s not a huge supermarket, even smaller given that about a 3rd of the shelf space is taken up by alcohol, and I tried to buy some fruit and veg. Got some carrot, garlic, am going to use the onion that the guy who lived in my apartment before me didn’t take with him, zucchini and crunchy pears. They get their pears from South America – they’re crunchier than the apples – no joke. The pears were picked green to stop them spoiling in transit and the apples have been in cold storage for a year. I tried to ripen the pears on the central heating at home – they went a bit darker on the outside, but were still very crunchy. Then I made my way around the winding paths (not straight aisles) of the supermarket and bought what I wanted, which was a lot…because I still don’t have much at home. I made my way to the random checkouts, which don’t really look like checkouts and waited in line for the person in front of me to finish. I was giving that person room to pack their things and get organised. Apparently, I gave them too much room for too long, because a grumpy old man (who didn’t want to wait for me because he only had a can of beer) pushed in in front of me.
I don’t understand Russian manners. I was holding the door open for a pregnant lady this morning, and she stopped and stood there on the side and looked at me and said: What are you doing, young girl? Apparently, no one has ever held a door open for her before. Probably won’t ever again either. To be fair, I was only holding the door open a little and at an awkward angle because it was heavy, but still… The girl at the checkout looked at me like I was stupid because I didn’t understand what she was talking about. Checkout chicks here always look bored and that you’re an inconvenience. I mean, I don’t blame them for being bored, but it’s a good job, and it’s not my fault that I need to buy something from the supermarket and they happen to be on the till. And why do I have to pay for plastic bags and why does she have to ask my permission before she can give me one? I mean seriously, I am groaning under the weight of my basket and she asks me if I would like a bag? I should have told her no, I don’t need a bag at all, I’m going to steal a trolley… except I couldn’t say that in Russian. I need that hat again that says, ‘I’m not stupid, I’m foreign. You think I’m wasting time but actually I’m trying to help you and be polite’. I don’t think I’ll bother… there seems to be little point.
After that exhausting day, it’s half past 7 at night and I have 1 more class to go. It’s kind of a demo class to promote the school to potential new students. I sort of know what I’m going to do, but I don’t know how old the people will be or anything about them. Only that they are adults, probably pre int/int level and because it’s scheduled for 8 pm they are probably business people who work during the day. I’ve got a couple of ideas, but I will probably have to put on a smile and entertain them (sorry… erm… give a demonstration lesson…) to ensure that we get the business. I’m not really concerned about that to be honest, it’s just that I’m so tired after everything that’s happened. Oh well, time to prep and put on a smile again. Can’t wait to go home and crash… despite having food I think I’m too tired to cook tonight and will probably eat instant noodles again… oh well.. maybe I’ll put some cheese with them.
3 Years in Siberia 