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 But we couldn't relax just yet, as he had been replaced by another train stalwart, the Drunkard.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!
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!
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