An Englishman's Idyll

Hello chaps,

The English are renowned for having a complex love/hate relationship with France. As a nation we complain of their 'rudeness', tendency to go on strike, snobbery and 'lazy' work ethic (they have a legal working week of 35 hours - less than in the UK which is 39 hours).

Yet we admire their food, architecture and, ironically, their relaxed 'mode de vie' - I suspect this comes down to jealousy. Watch any French film and you will see what I am referring to when I say 'mode de vie' - my favourites are Amelie, Conversations with My Gardener and The Grocer's Son. The Grocer's Son is a particular favourite of mine.

One of my favourite books that I have ever stolen off my mother is The Bloody English Women of The Maison Puce, by Jill Laurimore, because it sums up everything that English people love about France. I think it is a common aspiration to one day move to the French countryside and escape all that England threatens us with - and escape from other English people. Alas, the latter is rarely possible - as the book satirises. I have felt this myself, as I was hugely disgruntled in the summer, whilst on holiday in Paris, to discover that no one was French (they were all German or English tourists - I suspect the Parisians had all rather prudently upped and left to escape the mass of holidaymakers descending on their doorsteps) and that no one would speak to me in French - despite the fact I speak it well, albeit with an English accent that I try hard to control. I fully understand the hypocrisy in this - being yet another 'bloody English woman', but nevertheless, I echo the sentiments of Jill Laurimore's main protagonist.

Tours is a wonderful sanctuary away from English. I absolutely am wallowing in the bliss of this. There is comparatively little for tourists around here, despite there being a massive tourist information bureau, which is rather nice - it means I can speak the French I was hoping to, plus more besides. There is a profound novelty in pretending to be French - having a coffee in a cafe and the abundance of boulangeries is making my francophile side jump up and down with glee. I'm sorry, Russia, but shokoladnitsa aint got nothin' on this. I am hugely enjoying the fact I have to cross the Loire to do anything - though I suspect this novelty will wear off as I make my way into 8am lectures. Anyone who knows me will know I am not a morning person, so this will be an interesting part of my year abroad.

I am hugely glad I went to Russia though, as it is making this second half seem so much easier. I am very happy in my own company, which was not the case out there. This city is so warm and inviting, it appears to have a strong community feel to it - very French, very civilised and very nice. I am hugely privileged to be here, frankly, and I can't wait to get stuck in.

I survived sleeping under my coat last night, which wasn't as bad as you might think, but you may take comfort in the fact that I have now bought a blanket and crockery, so I am less of a tramp now!

Also, I have succeeded in making tea without a kettle! There is hope for me yet! (The answer to this one being a microwave. I am a GENIUS)

Oh and while talking to the receptionist today, he at one point said "Are you originally from Russia?" because  I could not stop saying "da" instead of "oui". This must be worked on.

Day One

Hello chaps,

I have actually made it safe and sound to Tours, France, where I will be spending the second half of my year abroad. I say this with a note of surprise, given the French reputation for bureacracy, strikes and generally 'not being British' about things. (Funny, that).

I am very lucky in that I have spoken French since I was a child and have pretty much have constantly had French lessons of some description since the age of five. While this does not mean I can consider myself to be any good at it, it means it does not intimidate me that much, which I think is very important. That, and it is much easier a language to an English speaker than Russian! It's also much easier to travel to for so many reasons - especially as being a London resident for most of the time, St Pancras International is essentially on my doorstep. 

I was dreading having to lug my suitcase through the Metro of Paris all by myself - where escalators are far less numerous than in London. It was so heavy that every time I lifted it, I almost fell over. Not cool. However, I was pleasantly surprised when no fewer than four people came to my aid and carried it up and down various offending sets of stairs with rather embarrassing ease. There is the character of the European to be completely unfazed by helping people out in train stations, especially when I fell over myself in Britishness, gabbling "oh thank you, you are most kind" with rapid gusto. Things that will never die.

I took the TGV from Paris Montparnasse to Tours, which was another pleasant surprise - the Loire Valley is incredibly beautiful, as well as completely flat. It's been a long time since I was in French countryside (at least 5 years or so) so it was nice to be back. It's being in France that reminds me why I do French!

Tours itself is incredibly beautiful. It is the stuff of English people's French dreams - winding cobbled streets, incredible 18th Century architecture and wide avenues, not to mention traditional formal public gardens where I can imagine petanque to be played on a regular basis in the summer. It makes me yearn for my childhood summer holidays spent in France, to be honest. Maybe I shall consider this the extended version, director's cut, or whatever they call it these days. 

I fear the gaffe reel will be extensive though. Today's gaffes include dragging my suitcase up a muddy bank because I went the wrong way to reception, speaking to the receptionist in half Russian, half French, my card getting blocked by my bank (even though I'd already told them I was going abroad - embarrassing) and almost getting myself run over when losing control of my suitcase.

I am going to spend tomorrow kitting out my new digs, including getting that outlandish frivolity - a duvet. I hedged my bets a little by not bringing one (physically couldn't carry it and it was all provided in Russia, so I made sure to bring a big towel instead!) so now tonight I will be sleeping under said towel and a coat. Idiot girl.

Bonjour à tous!

Well chaps, today marks the start of the final coundown towards my move to France - next week.
I feel as though I have only just returned from my travels in Russia - indeed, it has only been 3 weeks since I got off the plane! My life at the moment consists of pieces of paper and chasing up documents and signing forms. Goodness knows, I will forget something important and end up homeless. I'm not a disorganised person but there is just so much to keep track of!

I am very much looking forward to exploring my new surroundings, but my grasp of French at the moment has dwindled significantly. I did originally draft this post in French but I didn't have the guts to post it!

The only way is up though, right?

I hope all of you had a happy Christmas, whenever it was you celebrated it. (For my English readers, this was 25th December and for my dear Russians, this was the 7th January.) New Year though, is celebrated on 31st December by everyone, yet is more of a significant celebration for Russians. I am reluctant to talk about what I get up to in my daily life on here, frankly because it's not that interesting for people to read. I'll leave you with a brief comment about the fact I spent my festive period surrounded by good food, good fun and good company.

So for now, I will leave you all with my best wishes for the new year and I look forward to receiving your comments on my time in France.

I noticed lately that my view count has now passed 10,000 - so I want to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read about little ol' me. I never expected anyone other than a few close friends and family to take a look at this thing, so thank you!

Full Circle

Hello chaps,

Again, thanks for reading my blog and especially for your comments, I do enjoy reading them. I’m feeling very reflective today as it marks the start of the final week of my time out here. I’ve had a whale of a time, but it’s certainly been the most challenging four months of my life so far.

Peter, I want to thank you for your hospitality, you have been most forthcoming. I shall miss you most terribly, but I think it is time for me to move on and start the next chapter of my life.

So as anyone in Russia reading this will agree, (I can’t speak for anyone in England), it is COLD. I know I’m being a wimpy Southerner when I say this, but I have never been so cold in the entirety of my life. I’ve had a great time falling over in front of people and damaging pieces of masonry as I try to catch myself. There are 3 inches of ice on pretty much all the pavements at the moment, it is incredibly dangerous – especially for me as I am possibly the clumsiest person to walk (or indeed, fall over) on this earth. No word of a lie.

This blog is entitled ‘full circle’ due to what I got up to last Wednesday. Allow me to elaborate. Those of you who know me will know that I am the most prudish, most British person ever when it comes to public modesty. I’m the kind of girl who will go into a shop changing room just to try on a new jacket. Indeed, this blog is probably the most I will reveal about me in any public space.

Well, until last Wednesday perhaps. Ladies and gentlemen, I went to a traditional Russian “banya” or bath house. I know. Those crazy places that we read about in England where we are led to believe that some crazy babushka forces vodka down you while chasing you out wearing nothing but your birthday suit into the snow, beating you with a birch twig, shouting “It’s for your health, you weak-willed devushka, it’s for your health!”

It wasn’t quite that crazy, I assure you. In fact, it was incredible. I spent the rest of the day in a relaxed haze, having spent 2 hours repeatedly heating myself to the point of melting and then immediately cooling myself to the point of freezing. I became Russian for a good 2 hours, forgetting my British prudishness. There was no snow involved, nor were there babushki or vodka – it was a clean, elegant spa. People go there to be social, to relax and to blow away the cobwebs.

I guess I should now describe it, as naturally I have no pictures – the steam would have broken my camera. (Yeah, that’s my excuse).

Step 1: Shower in open but divided cubicles. I’ll point out here that bani are gender segregated.

Step 2: Spend 10 minutes in Turkish bath and try not to explode.

Step 3: When heat of Turkish bath gets too much, plunge into ice cold pool and try not to squeal.

Repeat steps 2 and 3 until you notice the traditional Russian banya and realise you only have 30 minutes left.

Step 4: Shower again in tepid water.

Step 5: Enter banya, (it’s an entirely birch panelled room with a raised section on which there are wooden benches). They are very hot, but it’s a dry heat unlike in the Turkish bath. The smell of birch is so strong you can taste it when it gets too hot to so much as breathe through your mouth (Such frivolity!)

Step 6: Lay out towel and recruit slave/roommate to smack you repeatedly over the back with a birch twig (leaves and all).

Step 7: Douse self in freezing cold water.

Step 8: (optional) Shower with soap so that you smell of flowers instead of birch.

After my two hour session, I emerged looking like a tomato and almost passed out in the shower at the end – but it was one of the best experiences out here.

My banya experience answered a few of my questions about Russians and led me to question my own culture and I came to the conclusion that the English are a people of overthinkers. Russian people frankly don’t give a toss if other people can see their wobbly bits. I’ll point out, they have none – they look after their figures very well over here and I think we English could take a leaf out of their book on this one. English people remain tainted by the Victorian prudishness that was our national code 200 years ago. While the Russians were revolting against the tsar and wearing furs, we were revolting at the sight of other women’s ankles and learning how to spell the word ‘fur’.  And so it continues. We stare aghast at the old woman in the swimming pool changing rooms who stopped caring about how she looked at least 20 years ago, unable to conceive that she might so dare to expose even her knees in such a public space.

Can we possibly get over this as a culture, as Britons? I think it is desirable, but frankly impossible. English people are among the most prudish in the world, after those of Islamic faith and Americans – but even Americans on the whole are far more outspoken than English people. Some may go so far as to say obnoxious but I will reserve judgement on this one, this is not the time or the place.

I can safely say I have gone full circle and completely got over myself, quite frankly. I will no longer be the girl who tries on a coat in a changing room – I’m going to do it on the shop floor, like a sane person.  Come to think of it, I did precisely that yesterday and indulged in a brand new Russian fur coat. I am in love. I figured my English coat and hat just were not cutting it, as my legs froze to the point they were painful as I crossed the Anichkov bridge. It’s Christmas next week, right?!

You can call me ‘Snow Queen’.

Winter

Hello chaps,

Those of you with whom I keep in touch via facebook will probably already have seen my recent pictures. I've taken upwards of 200 this week! I'm posting this as a bit of a teaser before I share with you some of my highlights. I'm short on time today, but you can expect them on Thursday.

I've been all over the place, including to the Lomonosovskaya Imperial Pottery factory, which we arrived too late to see anything of, but the outside world looked like something from The Day After Tomorrow, so we cashed in.

10 Things I will miss about St Petersburg

Hello chaps,

Apologies for the brief technicheskiy pererive, I’ve had nothing to report of late. My life has consisted of visiting the culinary landmarks of St Petersburg and spending quality time with my friends. I have a made a point however of visiting a new place every time though, so my stomach has certainly had the time of its life in recent weeks. I’ve walked places and I’ve read things. I feel like I’m on holiday, but it’s so much better than that. The only downside I’ve found to my various recent cultural excursions (Peter Paul Fortress and Alexander Nevsky Monastery) is that the current time is out of tourist season, so *everything* is under refurbishment. Nevertheless, I’m living the highlife.

I also experimented with a period of vegetarianism which lasted for 3 weeks – until my turning point this week when I started fantasising about fried chicken and resolving to devour my first ever Karls Junior burger. I swear to god, the UK is missing a trick by not having Karls Junior. I think I’m going to have to go back just so I can take a photo and share with you the deliciousness of their Chilli burger and fries. Absolument incroyable. My vegetarian phase came as the result of having many friends who are vegetarian out here and frankly, being bored of eating meat every day. Russian cuisine is very meat based. I decided to challenge myself – but I knew it was never going to be a permanent lifestyle choice. This is not the time or place to discuss the pros and cons of it, but boy, did I enjoy my chilli burger.

It hit me though that I will have to leave this place in four weeks, which got me thinking. I love Peter dearly, despite our relationship actually being more of a love/hate kind of thing. I love its canals, its bridges and its gardens. It has so many statues and places to visit, I barely feel as though I have scratched the surface of this place. My mother has always told me off for listing things in conversation as it is immensely boring, so just to spite her, I am going to do just that.

Ten Things I will miss about St Petersburg – in no particular order

1)      Lavash (flatbread), shashlik, potato and mushroom fry, mors, hachapuri and Georgian cuisine. Oh my goodness, the food. I’ve eaten like a king for the last few months for not very much money. I will replicate this all at home and when I am in France. I don’t care what you say about French food – save it. You will not come between me and my hachapuri.

2)      Russian Kitsch. They can really do it well over here. Deliberately mismatched crockery in cafes, armchairs, cosy interiors and natty little table decorations in cafes. I’m sorry London, but your attempts are hopelessly feeble. C –

3)      Architecture. Oh Peter, your twisting, gleaming spires and crumbling fasciae just make my heart weep! I could never get tired of the sight of this place. Whenever the terrible weather has started to erode my sanity a little too much, I just have to look up. I’m not talking about religion; I’m talking about the roofs, the windows and the doors. I should write poetry.

4)      Russian language. I will miss speaking Russian on a daily basis. To people who understand anyway. I will continue to speak it. To myself. In public. I will do it to the extent that people look over their shoulders at me and cross the street ‘to avoid that mad woman who is talking to herself even though there is no one else there’. That will be me.

5)      The music shops in Sennaya Ploshad that play their music into the square and fill the whole place with just an amazing ambience.

6)      Nevsky Prospekt. The place is a beehive of activity and you can feel the history beneath your very feet. Newton’s lesser known 23^rd Law of motion says that ‘it is impossible to hate St Petersburg when you are stood on Nevsky Prospekt’. Just sayin’.

7)      Anichkov most. My favourite bridge in the whole of the city. I stand there sometimes and consider my life with a Dostoyevskian grin on my face, a Gogolian absurdity in my head and a Tolstoian feeling of pure humanity in my heart. It is seeing the cast iron horses being reined in by men struggling to contain their strength, suspended in time above the Fontanka River that you realise that you are but a tiny part of a much larger machine and actually, the world will not end if you do not get that internship. A bridge of hope and optimism? I think so.

8)     The Neva. The carotid artery of the entire city. I love to walk along the embankment and freeze my face off. No really, I do.

    The people. Oh my goodness, the people. It is in this city that you will make friends with Irina the Cleaner, who has a soulful, philosophical voice and who, on hearing that your name means ‘happiness’, will say “Then you must always bring happiness – to yourself and to others”. It is in this city that you will talk to a shop assistant in the honey shop and explain that you haven’t the foggiest about what you are looking for and they will go out of their way to help you and will wish “good health and much happiness to your family in England”.

1   The arts and culture scene. The Hermitage and the Russian Museum are so much better than any of their English counterparts. I can see the British Museum hiding behind its hands with shame. I spent a lot of time there this summer, but now I wonder if I can go back.

Reverse Culture Shock

Hello chaps,

As some of you will know, I recently returned to England for a short stint in order to blow away a few cobwebs. I’m not sure exactly how to word this one, so forgive my muddled syntax for a moment – it’s like that most of the time anyway, let’s face it! This is going to turn out to be another cultural observation, but I hope that both groups of readers (Russian and English) enjoy learning about the other.

I must say, I had a hearty dose of what is termed “reverse culture shock”, which was a huge surprise. On arriving at the airport in St Petersburg, there were stacks of Brits returning to England, who clearly hadn’t spent as much time as I had in Russia. I do not mean this as an affectation; they were probably just on business for a week or a short holiday – rather than living out here for 3 months. Why do I know this? They smiled at me. Readers, despite being English, I have forgotten how to smile as falsely as a British person! The realisation struck me square between the eyes when they looked all shocked and offended when I didn’t smile back. I’ve talked previously about the cultural differences between Russians and Brits when it comes to smiling, but I’ve definitely gone native on that one.

Frankly, I’ve become rather disillusioned about English people. We have a lot more fakery than the Russians in terms of sentiments. The English smile when meeting someone new for the first time is more often than not completely stage-managed and fake – yet as a culture we come to expect it, so it will hang around for a long time yet. I feel a little saddened by this, but I must accept that English people will not develop the stony expressions of Russians – we’re too British for that. I know also how much it takes for a Russian to adopt the fake smiles of the West, as I discussed with the Russian aunt of my half-Russian flatmate a few months ago.

It also occurs to me that English people are much more easily offended than Russians. I think that a lot of the time, we look for things to get offended about. This is especially the case about things that don’t affect us directly. Furthermore, we have a national fear of offending people, based on this outlook. For example, on the flight returning to St Petersburg, a lady had placed her cabin bag about six inches away from her in the aisle. A fellow Russian woman stepped between the lady and her bag – and neither of them blinked an eyelid, and each carried on with their own business. English people would have found this incredibly rude. Let’s now replay that scenario - but with English people. Had they been English, the lady would still have placed her bag there – but the other woman would not have stepped in the tiny 6 inch gap. The British woman would instead have stood there, passive-aggressively huffing and puffing, attempting to send telepathic messages to the owner of the bag and eyeballing her to ask her (without actually asking her) to move it out of the way. Let us also consider the fact that this would probably have worked – we are very attuned as a culture to other people’s passive-aggressive hints, given that we do them so much ourselves. This can also be interpreted as the fact that Russian people cannot take a passive-aggressive hint – it is just not something they do as a culture.

English people hate making requests or being assertive, as English people see this as very rude and most un-British. A second example: At the baggage carousel at St Petersburg airport. I have already identified my suitcase coming down the carousel, but a man gets there first and tries to get hold of it, thinking it’s his. I pipe up: “Izvinitye, pazhalusta, eta moy chimadan!” (Sorry, please, that is my suitcase). He replies: “Oy – pahozhye” (oh, mine’s the same). If that was England, it would have played out differently. The man grabs the wrong suitcase, the woman sees and either a) eyeballs him and says nothing, hoping he’ll feel her hate vibes and return the suitcase to the carousel, or b) pipes up with “Excuse me sir, I think that’s MY suitcase” and everyone else thinks “What a rude woman, making a fuss like that, I’d better steer clear”. There is the third alternative of course, of no one thinking anything, but is decidedly more awkward, as it will be said with an undeniable element of embarrassment. We must also acknowledge the internal soul-searching of the British woman when deciding whether or not to say anything. She will have considered all of these factors and weighed them all up. It takes a lot for (the majority) of British people to make a fuss about anything. We just don’t do it.

I would like to reiterate my previous point about that fact that Russian women know how to get things done. I present you the example of the woman who was adamant she was going to buy duty free whiskey, whether the plane was coming into land at that very second or not. We were starting the descent, the captain had switched on the seatbelt signs – yet the woman asked the cabin crew staff no fewer than five times to make her transaction – which they only consented to on the fifth occasion, presumably just so she’d stop nagging.

To sum up - you never really appreciate nipping down to Tesco’s until you haven’t been able to for 3 months.