Living in Siberia for 7 months is like listening to a long dance track: it starts off and you think,'ooh this is ok', and then by the middle you're into it, tapping your feet and bobbing your head around, but by the last minute and a half it's got a bit tedious and you just want to skip to the next song.
They do say that all good things must come to an end, and indeed, even bad things are doomed to the same fate. So this is the end of my Siberian adventure and let me tell you, dear friends, it's not been easy. No, it's been a tumultuous journey from innocence to maturity; from naivety to enlightenment. I shall not forget Russia and all the lessons it has taught me. Nor will I forget the cheap music it has provided me with! For as in all good adventures, the protagonist (that's me) has emerged from the crusty shell of routine and mundaneness into the fully blossomed flower of worldly-wise-ness. I could tell you a thing or two but you probably wouldn't believe me. There'll be stories to tell round the fireplace now. I can look back at my 20's and think 'well old gal, you did it you know'.
I fear that when I return to England I'll adopt an uncle Albert style habit of starting each sentence with 'when I was in Russia...', to which all my companions will groan and instantly fall asleep. As if they didn't already do that every time I spoke.
The most important thing though is that I have finally read The Lord of the Rings and listened to The White Album, acquainted myself with the life's works of David Bowie and read and related to Gogol – all of which could not have happened had I not come here to Russia, especially in the last two months of having no students cos they've all buggered off on holiday. I have also been lucky enough to be introduced to the delights of Russian pop music, something that will long remain with me, like the lingering taste of shashlik bought from a dirty looking barman at a summer tent. What else?.... well there was the skiing in the forest, the dachas and banya, the vodka – ah yes the vodka, who could forget the diaphanous venom, and the Baltika number 7. Of course, Russia is not all about drinking and tacky plastic pop, there's much more to the motherland than that. What? Well, there's the obsession with money and image, proving that even here, 3000 km from Moscow, they're still only human. There's the denial of above mentioned obsession with money and image, which is more entertaining than the nationalism, and of course there's the vast Russian soul. But shhhh, we shan't talk about that here for I cannot do it justice through my plain words, it has to be experienced first hand to grasp the full extent of it's magnetism and deepness. But once you get drawn in there's no release, it's like a trap... Luckily I have wriggled free, and am back to my senses after my pro-Noel Edmonds speech earlier in the week!
They do say that all good things must come to an end, and indeed, even bad things are doomed to the same fate. So this is the end of my Siberian adventure and let me tell you, dear friends, it's not been easy. No, it's been a tumultuous journey from innocence to maturity; from naivety to enlightenment. I shall not forget Russia and all the lessons it has taught me. Nor will I forget the cheap music it has provided me with! For as in all good adventures, the protagonist (that's me) has emerged from the crusty shell of routine and mundaneness into the fully blossomed flower of worldly-wise-ness. I could tell you a thing or two but you probably wouldn't believe me. There'll be stories to tell round the fireplace now. I can look back at my 20's and think 'well old gal, you did it you know'.
I fear that when I return to England I'll adopt an uncle Albert style habit of starting each sentence with 'when I was in Russia...', to which all my companions will groan and instantly fall asleep. As if they didn't already do that every time I spoke.
The most important thing though is that I have finally read The Lord of the Rings and listened to The White Album, acquainted myself with the life's works of David Bowie and read and related to Gogol – all of which could not have happened had I not come here to Russia, especially in the last two months of having no students cos they've all buggered off on holiday. I have also been lucky enough to be introduced to the delights of Russian pop music, something that will long remain with me, like the lingering taste of shashlik bought from a dirty looking barman at a summer tent. What else?.... well there was the skiing in the forest, the dachas and banya, the vodka – ah yes the vodka, who could forget the diaphanous venom, and the Baltika number 7. Of course, Russia is not all about drinking and tacky plastic pop, there's much more to the motherland than that. What? Well, there's the obsession with money and image, proving that even here, 3000 km from Moscow, they're still only human. There's the denial of above mentioned obsession with money and image, which is more entertaining than the nationalism, and of course there's the vast Russian soul. But shhhh, we shan't talk about that here for I cannot do it justice through my plain words, it has to be experienced first hand to grasp the full extent of it's magnetism and deepness. But once you get drawn in there's no release, it's like a trap... Luckily I have wriggled free, and am back to my senses after my pro-Noel Edmonds speech earlier in the week!
posted by Girl Least Likely To at 5:37 PM
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