September saw the nervous arrival in Russia’s ‘Cultural Capital’ of 15 or so of 
Manchester finest third year Russian language students. On arrival, after the woman at passport control threw a biro at me for insulting the Russian love of forms by filling out the wrong one, we located the language school minibuses and we were dropped off at our new abodes.
This involved, firstly, a tour of what seemed to be the Petersburg ghetto. One of my friends pointed this out only minutes before it turned out that this was to be her home. A 10 foot tall Mafioso, complete with black suit and chain, bald head and black shades appeared to collect her and her luggage, and with a defeated look from her, they disappeared into a block of flats above a Sex Shop. The rest of us waited on the minibus in horror, certain we would never see her again.
I was next along with two other of my language-studying friends, and around the corner appeared a small, female Russian imp, not dissimilar in appearance to Dobby the house elf and about half his height. Since our first introduction she has involved us in her life in every way, from displaying her exercise routine on our kitchen floor on day one, to forcing her bizarre cooking experiments down our throats – homemade horseradish or hren – to be avoided at all costs in future. Another friend’s hazyaika (landlady) has shared rather too much with her, taking her rather early on to a Russian banya or sauna/baths, where she was encouraged to strip naked, so that a man called Sergei could float her in a pool and stroke her with birch leaves.
Culture-wise, we have so far experienced: the Opera – where cans of alcopop are, for future reference, not appreciated; an amazing ice-hockey game – we were disappointed that you can’t eat or drink while watching the game, but on the upside, the SKA team mascot is a laughing horse with a mullet; and the Kunstkamera – an anthropological museum with a surprise exhibition of preserved deformed babies in jars from the 17th century – not recommended before a meal, rather disturbing.
Meals, incidentally, have been a somewhat traumatic, if filling, experience for students who bravely let their hazyaikas cook for them. I use the word ‘cook’ loosely here. The first meal one of our group received on arrival consisted of three sausages, mash potato, cabbage, followed by a whole loaf of bread, a flat-bread, a salad and a plate of ham. She was then asked if she’d like a cake for pudding and, not wanting to sound ungrateful, she accepted…. and was then given the option of chicken, vegetable, or fish – hello Russia!
And finally, two things you didn’t know about Russia? One: the bins are always on fire – putting one’s cigarette out before chucking it away is apparently never an option. Also, a mullet is a must – and it’s not just a great fashion statement. Apparently it serves the practical purpose of neck-warmer in the long, cold winter.
