Wilkommen In Wien - What To Expect From My Viennese Reports

I am fully deserving of a slap on the wrist, because today marks the beginning of my third week in Vienna, and I have yet to post a blog entry! My excuse for this was that at first I wasn't really doing anything, and I wasn't about to post a blog about my thoroughly exciting days of watching Vampire Diaries and Facebook stalking people I haven't seen since primary school! Then, once things actually started to happen it all happened at once and I didn't have time to write. But let's start this new Viennese section of the blog with a list. There's are some of the things which you should expect to hear about in the next few entries, and some things you shouldn't!

What to expect:

• "Amusing" teaching anecdotes - It may be a measure of how easily amused I am, but I've heard some pretty funny things in my first couple of weeks teaching, and you're going to hear about them whether you like it or not!
• Ex-pat antics - I have become exactly what I swore I wouldn't, a member of the ex-pat club, spending most of my time with other language assistants and attending Erasmus socials. On the one hand, I should probably feel ashamed that I'm not speaking enough German, but on the other I'm having too much fun to care!
• Language battles - I may not be speaking as much German as I ought, but you can guarantee that when I do attempt it I will make some embarrassing faux-pas, which are always good blog fodder.
• Crazy day trips - While I may have travelled more of this area of Europe than the area around St. Petersburg, there's still far too much that I've never seen, and I intend to see as much of it as possible.
• Public transport rants - A fair proportion of my day is now spent on public transport, so inevitably this will probably feature heavily in the blog.
• Jokes at my own expense - And of course at the expense of everyone and everything I encounter here. If I can make fun of it, I will make fun of it. Nothing is immune :)

What NOT to expect:

• Getting things for free - This game doesn't seem to translate from Russian to Austrian, as not only do I have the delightful pound-euro conversion rates to contend with, but the Viennese don't seem to understand the concept of giving you things for free. Good job I'm working!
• Melon-related anecdotes - Unfortunately for Jenny (who specifically requested melon stories), I am now feeding myself. This means I am no longer forced to eat entire melons, cold fish, or suspicious meat which "comes from head". Good for my stomach, not so great on the anecdote front...
• Austrian stereotypes - There might be some once I learn what the more quirky (read completely insane) parts of the Austrian character are, but as I am hoping to actually make some Austrian friends who may well read this there will be no connections made between the typical Austrian and a) Josef Fritzl, b) Adolf Hitler, or c) anyone from the Sound of Music. Political incorrectness can only go so far...

A New Era Begins

And so, as most of you (especially those of you who saw me in Durham last week) will have worked out by now, I am no longer in Russia. Nor am I planning on returning, at least not for the next year or so. My plans for the rest of my Year Abroad read like this:

3rd February - 31st May: British Council Language Assistantship in Vienna.

5th - 26th September: Language Course in Bamberg

The sharp-eyed amongst you will have noticed that my British Council Language Assistantship actually begins today. Yes, that's right, in approximately 14 hours' time I will be sitting on a plane on the way to Vienna where a week of frivolity and sightseeing awaits before I begin teaching on 14th February. Currently I have very little clue what I will be teaching (other than the obvious - English) to whom so hopefully my meeting with one of my Betreuungslehrerinnen (teachers in charge of looking after me), Betty, on Friday (that would be tomorrow then...) will enlighten me somewhat. I do know that I am teaching at two schools, the BRG Fichtnergasse, which is a state Gymnasium, the German and Austrian equivalent of our old grammar schools, and the Schule St. Ursusla, which is also a Gymnasium, but a private Catholic one. Hopefully I won't be asked any awkward questions about my religion....

After a long session of online flat-hunting, involving many complicated e-mails, Skype conversations and rejections, I have finally found somewhere to live for my four months in Vienna. I'll be living in the 7. Bezirk, which is quite close to the centre, the student district, and...the red-light district... But it's near where I stayed last time I was in Vienna, and despite the numerous sex shops, it's a nice enough area. Plus it comes equipped with double bed, piano and friendly roommate, Charlotte, who has already promised to show me around the city. Wish me luck!

(Note - I will be continuing to document my travels from this blog, at the same address, however I am trying to think of a new title for the title bar. Suggestions welcome!)

Christmas, Community, and Cancellations - The Long Journey Home

As I spent most of the two weeks before I was due to fly home complaining about leaving Russia, you would have thought that I would have been grateful to see that due to the problems at Heathrow, I might have to stay. Not so. The possibility of not getting home made me realise how much I wanted to be there, and so I spent most of the two days before my flight anxiously refreshing the British Airways and Heathrow websites in search of some concrete information. I was wasting my time. As far as I could tell when I left for the airport, my flight was scheduled as normal. Actual meaning – not cancelled yet!

After several hours of delays, a free ‘meal’ from TGIs (actual meaning – a sandwich and some chips), and mild confusion as to why our gate was changing every five minutes, the pilot appeared. The appearance of the man who was meant to be flying our plane in less than half an hour’s time was never going to be a good sign, and sure enough the flight was cancelled. However, in typical Russian fashion, the airport staff assured us that we would fly as soon as Heathrow was willing to receive us. When the pilot protested, saying that surely the people scheduled on the next day’s flight would receive precedence, the BA manager for Pulkovo stared at him as if he was insane. “But this is their plane! When it flies, they fly!” Er, alright then – no complaints here.

British Airways continued to cater to our every whim. Four star hotel with all-you-can-eat breakfast? Check. Free shuttle bus between the airport and the hotel? Check. Pilot and cabin crew on site to harass at will? Check. As I relaxed in a room the size of my flat in St. Petersburg, pictures flashed up on the news of people sleeping in Heathrow and Charles de Gaulle, and I had a ‘there but for the grace of God go I’ moment. Only a moment, though – I was still facing the prospect of spending Christmas in a country which doesn’t celebrate Christmas…

Over breakfast the next morning, we gathered a small crowd of ‘flight refugees’ – a nearly-deaf Australian whose four days in London were diminishing rapidly, a young Australian couple on a round-the-world tour, a Mancunian woman who had been in St. Petersburg for a wedding, a Russian woman wanting to get home to her kids in England, and a Cambridge student who spent most of the morning working on an essay. We swiftly became united in the common goal of irritating the cabin crew, so when we were informed that only one flight was leaving that afternoon, and we wouldn’t find out who was on it until we got to the airport, we were rather distressed at the prospect of separation. Luckily for us, though, the Russians were true to their word, and people booked in for that day’s flight were being turned away to make room for us. Even holding the boarding pass in my hands didn’t quite convince me that I was going home, but it seemed to be happening, and we had a small celebration every time we got one step closer to the plane.

After coming so close the day before, nothing short of arriving in Heathrow was quite going to convince me that it was real. Noticing the captain walking down the aisle mid-flight inspired a mild panic attack but it was real and we arrived in London, with all of our luggage, only ten minutes late. Plus or minus twenty-four hours… 


(First published for my column at www.thebubble.org.uk)

History, Hangovers, and Hospitality - Visiting Vologda

My last days in Russia could have been spent in any number of ways - not least packing my two giant suitcases - but instead Tom and I decided to do something special, to end the trip with a bang. Given that Tom had already received an invitation to a birthday party in Vologda, it took the minimum of effort (at least on my part) to get myself invited too.

Vologda being twelve hours away from St. Petersburg, this trip involved that great Russian cultural experience, the overnight train journey. These journeys always involve a variety of interesting characters including, invariably, the man (or woman) who snores incredibly loudly. On the way, we had the misfortune to be in the bunks opposite him, not that it made much difference, as he succeeded in keeping the entire carriage awake. Everyone. Including the 'train monitor' who had her own locked cabin at the end of the carriage. On the way back he had disappeared. But we couldn't relax just yet, as he had been replaced by another train stalwart, the Drunkard. We inadvertently gained his approval by slugging cheap supermarket brandy in an attempt to get to sleep on a train which seemed to feel the need to remind us that it was a train every five minutes by tooting its horn loudly. (It was also able to decide whether it was day or night by switching the lights on and off accordingly - according to the train night began at 10PM and ended an hour later). This meant that I spent half an hour listening to incoherent Russian rambling (luckily very few responses were required) and shared a cigarette with him in the freezing cold smoking area (literally, there was ice on the walls!). I was only rescued when the 'train  monitor' appeared and started threatening to call the police if he didn't go to bed. Quite how the police were going to get to the train I wasn't sure, but I was grateful for the assistance.

Vologda was in many ways similar to Novgorod, small, ancient and beautiful - it was even favoured by Ivan the Terrible until a brick falling from the ceiling of the Sophia Cathedral nearly killed him. Nikita, whose flat we were notionally staying in, gave us a guided tour and Julia, Tom's best student, provided a translation when required. Highlights included the town museum (featuring: some more stuffed animals, do Russians ever put anything else in their museums?); the completely frozen river which was being used alternately for skiing practice, ice-fishing, and as a camping ground; and the two inches of solid ice covering every surface on which one might wish to walk. After I had fallen over for the third time, Julia suggested that Tom hold my arm to keep me upright. When he refused, she showed him just how colourful her English vocabulary was, before telling him that chivalry was dead. Looks like the Russian perception that an English gentleman is more like Colin Firth than Hugh Grant could be changing soon...

But while chivalry may have been dead in Vologda, hospitality certainly wasn't. Nikita welcomed us into his home, where we met various members of his family including his mother, who practically force-fed us Vologdan dairy products (the region is famed for its dairy products because "we have cows, and near to cows are factories") and home-cooked delicacies such as borsch and potato bread, and his dog, who purred like a cat (prompting Tom to say "that dog is either being irritated or sexually pleasured") and had a slight problem with peeing all over the flat. Its reaction to being told off for this particular misdemeanour was to drag itself around the living room by its front legs, essentially wiping its bum on the cream carpet.

He also welcomed us into quasi-workplace, the 'Palace of Creativity', where we were 'treated' to a two-hour dance class. It was a confusing, tiring and sweaty couple of hours, but nonetheless enjoyable, and I might even have picked up a couple of steps. We also got to watch some shows put on by the youth group there, which were excellent, not least because I managed to understand nearly all of it, including the jokes.

The final part of Nikita's hospitality was that he welcomed us into his friendship group, and the only night that I actually spent sleeping in Vologda was on the sofa-bed in some unidentified person's flat. I'm sure that I did meet said unidentified person, but the problem is that I'm not sure which of Nikita's twenty or so friends they were. We were there for Pasha's birthday, Pasha being another of Nikita's friends, identifiable mostly by the fact that he spent most of the night in his pyjamas. The reason for this wasn't entirely certain, although it was probably alcohol-related. Alcohol (including the rather strange mix of fortified wine and coke) was certainly in abundance, as at any student party and I played my very first Russian drinking game, 'Buffalo'. This involved holding your drink in your non-writing hand and downing it if you were caught doing otherwise - a fast ticket to drunkenness, as well as to learning the informal imperative of the verb 'to drink'. Learning aside, it was an excellent party, I: got very drunk, insisted to everyone that I absolutely could speak Russian, had an odd tri-lingual conversation (English, French, and Russian) with a girl named Katya, and swapped my belt for another girl's earrings. This last was due to an interesting Russian tradition whereby if you compliment someone on an item of their clothing, they feel duty-bound to hand it over - I suppose I should be grateful that it wasn't her dress!

Visiting Vologda was the perfect ending to my time in Russia, reminding me of everything that is good about this breath-taking country and giving me a reason to come back - and hopefully, a place to stay!