Living Safely (БЖД)

I honestly cannot not recall how this came up in conversation, however, I very recently learnt that while Russians use the same word for foot and leg - нога (na-ga) - and for hand and arm - рука (roo-ka), they do however have words to distinguish different types of bogies. Hard - козявки (kaz-yav-kee) and soft - сопли (sop-lee). I have always said that a language reflects the people and their culture.

My experience tells me that this country's relationship with social media is still in its honeymoon period, as opposed to the UK where many people are looking to cut back the amount of time they are on social media and are generally quite private about what they share. Here, there is a trend for posting almost entire blogs posts as captions on Instagram, sharing extensive and private thoughts, asking questions for debates, using Facebook and VK (the Russian equivalent of Facebook) to complain about different organisational systems in Russia and, of course, CONSTANT selfies and taking photos in front of signs and buildings (although people seem to prefer having pictures taken on their own and no smiling of course). In light of International Women's Day, which here is a bank holiday, my attention was brought to businesses offering big bouquets of roses for rent. Why? So you can photograph yourself with the bouquet and post it on social media to "create jealousy in your ex-partners or interest in potential partners". For the equivalent of £11, you have up to 10 minutes to take the 'perfect photo' and for an extra fee you can have a car and a driver in a suit included (although not showing his face) and even a Tiffany or Gucci gift bag. I would prefer Chanel myself.

Into the second semester and a couple new subjects have been added to our timetable. Namely, 'Theory and Practice of Present-day Education' (Теория и пратика современного образования) and 'Living Safely' (Безопасность жизнедеятельности). Initially confused on seeing these subjects in my timetable, I later found out they were obligatory for all 1st years (including second-time 1st years like myself) and decided to try and keep an open mind.... 'Theory and Practice of Present-day Education' opened with asking any problems we had noticed with the educational system in Russia - I decided to keep quiet, fascinated instead by the 20-minute outpour from a fellow classmate, who manages to turn up to around half of the lessons and has probably said about three words during class time since the start of the year. The lesson ended just as amusingly with the teacher spending 5 minutes trying to pronounce 'Oakham School'. As of yet, I am still not quite sure as to what we are supposed to be learning in this module. 

'Living Safely' was quite the shock to say the least. With a teacher who treats us like 12-year-olds just learning to write and a 'point' system for passing the module - gold stars and bonus points awarded for participation in class and not looking at your notes when answering a question, we spent the first lesson listing the different types of 'extraordinary' events that can happen and which can cause danger to human life. For homework we were asked to find the definitions of 'danger', 'catastrophe', 'accident', fire and 'explosion' as well as watch of video of Hiroshima so we know what to expect. This module should have been called "Expecting the Worst" or "The numerous ways a human can unexpectedly find themselves in a dangerous situation and how to define and classify them"...! To quote Mr. Positive himself, "...you need to know the main things that can cause danger to you in everyday life, those which are specific to the region of Moscow...there are around 30 different types to be aware of." Among other things, we will also be learning to put on gas masks and recite the different wind speeds of a tornado or a hurricane - What are we being prepared for? Having these lessons from a young age at school through to university, no wonder Russians are so cheerful! [For mental balance, I would suggest also having lessons called "How to live a pleasant and enjoyable life."] 

In other news, for quite a while now I have been confused about people walking around with straws sticking out through the lid of their takeaway coffee cups. On treating myself to a coffee after yoga, I realised that lattes are served with straws! Plastic straws to drink coffee?! Now if that's not a situation that can cause danger to a human being that you experience in everyday life then I don't know what is. 

Mid-March and we haven't had snow since February and I'm down to only one pair of tights under my jeans...things are looking good!

Bye for now,

A xx

For the 24/7 flower dash

When you find secret hidden gems in the building where you study (well out of the way of dirty students)

Given to me in celebration of International Women's Day

Never-ending Moscow traffic

An early spring sunset

Bread with Tea and Jam.

I can't believe I have gone this long without mentioning the fact that Russians put jam in their tea.

Yes, my reaction was the same. As Maria very clearly states, tea is a drink you have with jam and bread, you don't have tea and jam with bread - surely that would just result in dry bread stuck in your mouth. I was recently confronted with this very issue on a 10-day residential course I did outside Moscow where the breakfast lay out placed the three pots of jam next to the sugar, lemon slices and endless boxes of herbal tea, as opposed to next to the bread and porridge where one would expect it and I proceeded to see others load spoonfuls of it into their cups. The next trick is then trying to figure out which jam is meant for which tea. When greeted with a selection of at least ten different various combinations of herbs, which are supposed to help you with this and that ailment, yet that all look very much like the same green, flowering plant on the front and with unrecognisable names, you can imagine the dilemma I found myself in. Especially having been promised that one of the teas was a very strong laxative - I didn't want to be caught unawares.* I only managed to recognise peppermint among the boxes, before digging out some black tea from the back and deciding to play it safe. The tea and breakfast excitement didn't end there as I was caught unaware by the boiling hot milk meant for my tea, which meant that I had to quickly recalculate the time required to wait for my ideal drinking temperature. I was further confused by the great vat of grated carrots peppered with rogue pieces of apple. For breakfast?! To be honest, there are grated carrots in everything here - it is after all the perfect accompaniment to beetroot, cabbage and potatoes.

It certainly is interesting to compare breakfast products in the various countries I have been to. I took advantage of being in Western Europe over the holidays and the fact that a plane ticket with Ryanair can cost less then a return train ticket to London and went to visit a friend in Madrid. Miles away from the world of grated carrots, the Spanish like to treat themselves to a very sweet pastry with freshly-squeezed orange juice or sugary churros dipped in melted chocolate. If that isn't every child's breakfast dream then I don't know what is. Not one to shun other cultures or ways of living, I was more than happy to oblige and found a great bakery called La Mallorquina - founded in 1894 ! - and it became my first stop every morning. A wonderful thing about Madrid is the metal plaques you will see everything now and then on the pavement outside a shop or business marking over 100 years of service. It means that in that very spot, the same business has been running (not necessarily the same family but selling the same produce/service) for at least 100 years and so can usually guarantee a certain degree of quality. What a brilliant way to keep smaller businesses going and for people to support those businesses. I learnt that keeping your eyes peeled to the floor can also help you find the best places to eat, according to the number of napkins littering the floor - throwing your napkin on the floor after finishing is seen as a sign of appreciation for the food. I tried to be as nonchalant as possible when I went to do it but felt a strange guilt for having created more cleaning up work for the owner. The few days gave me a wonderful taste of a life where there is sun all year round and temperatures stay above 0. Currently sitting in my room as I dread the -21°c awaiting me outside does make me wonder if I should rethink my choice of city. Although I don't know if I could stomach the amount of meat and sugar that seems to make up a large part of the Spaniards' diet. Living the la vida loca indeed.

Back in Moscow with a fresh load of supplies from a well-known English supermarket, my mouth and tongue muscles are slowly getting back into shape as they once again get used to working their way around the unnecessarily (in my opinion) long words. Language is always a reflection of the people and, in this case, it is certainly no different when comparing English and Russian ways of doing things and getting things done. Take a word like to 'chat' or 'talk', the Russian equivalent would be разговоривать (raz-ga-va-ri-vat), or 'sequence' in Russian would be последовательность (pass-le-daw-va-tel-nost), or to 'adapt' - приспосабливаться (pri-spo-sab-lee-vat-cia), I could go on. I'm not saying that it's not a beautiful language, in literature especially, but it also a wonderful reflection of life here. If everything takes twice or thrice as long to say, it also takes just as much longer to do. Such as topping up my transport card for the bus. Having asked at the metro ticket offices, where I could add the monthly fare for the buses to my pass, I was simply told repeatedly 'This is the metro', 'Yes, I know but the transport network is one big company so where could I get bus fares', 'I dunno - not here', 'Wonderful, thank you for your help.' Three months in and I finally managed to find out about a kiosk not far from my mum's place where I can do it. (Why there are no locations in the centre are beyond me.) Battling the windchill which makes it feel about 10 degrees colder, I finally located the brusk woman sitting in her little kiosk box in the street - only to realise she only takes cash. What's life without being kept on your toes for that little while longer, eh?
Transport always seems to crop up in my stories and this time is no different. Reaching the 10-day residential camp involved taking a train (elektrichka) 2 hours east of the city (although it still counts as the region of Moscow) to a place called Avsyunino. I spent the whole journey there wondering if I was on the right train and would have missed it, had they not announced the name just in the nick of time, as the platform consisted of a one long piece of concrete seemingly placed at random between the two tracks without any signage or information whatsoever. I was also very aware of the fact that my suitcase and I could easily fall through the gap between the train and the platform edge and was glad that long jump had been a strong point of mine at school - and I thought all those afternoons doing athletics wouldn't come in useful. I was later informed that this was quite common and my experience was repeated only yesterday as I went further out of the city to collect a clothing rail and found the 'exit' was getting off the platform and walking along side the tracks until you reached the main road. 
Making the most of the last few days before term starts, I have spent each morning at the arthouse cinema that is now right next door. No more mono-voice Russian dubbing over the top of the films for me! The morning tariff means I can see a film for the equivalent £1.36 (CAN $2.22) and thanks to the system of assigned seating they have in cinemas here, I can buy my ticket the day before and always ensure the best spot without having to sit through adverts beforehand. Though usually an evening activity, I find seeing a film in the morning much more productive as a great reason to be up early and it also means I don't fall asleep half way through. Exploring the new area, I found a new bakery down the street that has a morning coffee and croissant deal. Looks like I might have found myself a lovely new morning routine.
Mucho amor,
A xxx
*I found out at the end that it was this one, for anyone who's wondering: http://www.therighttea.com/senna-tea.html 

Driving in English countryside and see nothing for miles until we arrive to the top of a hill to find a pub and an overflowing car park - only in Britain

Rare experience of the English coastline (for me at least)

Someone appears to have missed the bin

Spanish "winter" in its full glory

In the 17th century, this hostel used to provide a hairbrush attached to the side a the bed and this was considered a huge luxury for nomads of the time

Direction unconfirmed

How to get fresh water when living the in the country 101

Just waiting on the platform in preparation for hailing down the next train to Moscow

x

Hop, skip and a jump.

Winter is very much upon us here and, while I sometimes have problems speaking after the lower half of my face has become numb from being in the cold for a minute too long, I still prefer cold and snow to the constant grey and rain that we have become used to in the UK. The white of the snow brightens everything up around it and the light of a morning winter sun is blindingly beautiful (and just blinding in some cases).

However, it seems that Moscow is far behind many other cities in Russia where temperatures have been around -15°c and less for over a month now. And the great distances between main Russian cities mean that one can easily forget that there is life in Russia outside Moscow, St. Petersburg, Novosibirsk and Ekaterinburg. Take Krasnoyarsk, for example. In Krasnoyarsk Krai (a federal region equivalent in size to ten UK's), it is a 4½-hour flight from Moscow or, as my father made sure to inform me, an 82-hour drive from our house in England, yet still only half-way across Russia. As my mother reported back, after her trip, it is a charming place full of culture and history where people are blissfully ignorant of life in the capital, where the regional minister for culture is hoping to be the one to build the city's first McDonald's and where people will happily take a couple days off to drive the 806km (500 miles) to their nearest Ikea in the "neighbouring" (their word not mine) city of Novosibirsk.
I was also delighted to hear that they have recycling. Unfortunately not the same can be said for Moscow and St. Petersburg where a small group of twenty-somethings seems to be fighting a losing battle against a generation of Soviet Russians (including my grandfather) who don't understand that throwing something away doesn't mean that it just disappears into thin air... Currently my mother resorts to taking a suitcase full of recycling back to the UK with her every time she goes back.

On a recent trip to Tallinn, I felt the true effects of living in snow-bedevilled countries as my direct flight was cancelled due to an incoming snowstorm. I managed to convince the girl at the service desk to put me on a flight via Helsinki instead to make it in time for the evening's concert. [For my Canadian friends who were asking - Tallinn is the capital of Estonia and Helsinki is the capital of Finland, both in north-east Europe.]

Through the winter months, before take-off, every plane needs to be "de-iced". On first hearing that this was the cause for our 40-minute delay, I was quite unsure as to what exactly this entailed. As the plane turned towards the runway and I got a better view, I realised we were part of a long queue of planes all awaiting the same fate as two big trucks worked their way down the line, spraying every part of the planes with their magic solution - an experience that brought me back to the excitement of dad suggesting getting a car wash on the way home from the shops and sitting in the car as the unstoppable thunder of brushes came towards you (and always wondering what would happen if you open the window...even just a touch).

My connecting flight from Helsinki to Tallinn proved to be the ultimate Nordic experience.  Sporting our thick winter coats and furry hoods, everyone resembled eskimos as we walked out to our small propeller plane*, trying to distinguish it from the surrounding blizzard. Admittedly, it was somewhat disconcerting not being able to see anything apart from a thick blanket of white for the whole journey and only realising you had arrived when you felt the plane touch-down at the other end. The bird-song playing in the toilets on arrival certainly helped to calm any excitement from the journey, if slightly off-putting as I generally prefer to go inside rather than out. It was interesting to compare the Russian and European airport security checks, i.e. anything goes vs. nothing goes. I got water and juice bottles through on the way there without even taking my liquids out of my bag and I was made to check my bag on the way back as almond and cashew butters have been known to be quite dangerous items to take on flights...

In Tallinn and, therefore, in Europe, I was caught off-guard by the number of Russians that seemed to surround me everywhere I went - I had left Moscow to have a break from them! The Soviet market we found with thousands of relics reflecting a different time and way of life reminds you that although Estonia has done its best to be "european" and "western", many Russians living there still hold on to their Russian roots and past as a strong part of their identity. Alexander Nevsky Cathedral** - the Russian orthodox church on top of the hill overlooking the city is a beautiful, poignant symbol of exactly that, and as I walked by I had strong memories of my mother taking my brother and I there as kids. I was pleasantly surprised by how small the city is with a maximum ten-minute walk to any location and not the minimum 45 minutes that I'm used to and so I made sure to use all this time I saved during the day to stock up on enough good food to keep me going till I'm home for Christmas. Russia still hasn't picked up on the freshly-cooked food and good quality fruit and vegetables trend unfortunately - well, that is affordable for a music student at least - so I have to rely on care packages from my lovely father and a few days away to stock up my reserves.

Another sign of good security and safety efficiency in Russia can be observed in the fire drill we had in academy one day. It reminded me of the musicians on the Titanic who refuse to leave the sinking ship and are determined to play right until the very end. My classmates were determined not to miss the beginning of our ear-training lesson and various percussionists and wind-players practising in the surrounding corridors were absolutely resolved in perfecting their dominant seventh arpeggios before even considering leaving the premises, all the while ignoring the announcement and fire alarm blaring from the speakers. It was a whole 20 minutes before a security guard came around to tell everyone to go outside asking, "Can't you hear the fire alarm?" and people started to slowly shuffle down the stairs gazing longingly at the last page of the Mozart sonata they didn't quite get to finish.

Hope you are looking forward to the holidays as much as I am,

Lots of love,

A xx


*this may or may not be the correct technical term

** For anyone interested in a very brief Russian history lesson: Alexander was a prominent prince who ruled over Novgorod (the location for the original Kremlin years before Moscow), Kiev and Vladimir during the mid-13th century. (For more info, please ask Google.)

Alexander Nevsky Cathedral

First-night dinner views as I stock up on vitamins at a delicious new vegan restaurant. 

Sneaky shot in the Soviet market (where they wanted to charge 1€ a picture)

Feeling like I'm in Goodbye, Lenin! (one of my favourite films)

Just before being blown away by Angela Hewitt making magic with her fingers

Moscow Mule.

1st September. 1st day of a new term at a new academy with new people with the first lecture scheduled for my year group at 12pm. Of course I missed it. I basically missed the first day. Thanks to delays in Frankfurt that meant I missed my connecting flight and arrived to academy straight from the airport with my small suitcase in hand (of course my checked luggage hadn't made it to Russia with me) and made it to the piano department a few minutes before closing time. Good start, Masha, good start.

The first couple of weeks were spent trying to figure out how I could minimise the time I was wasting as I tried to piece together the non-existent organisational system the institution seems to function under. It's interesting that Russians appear to have straight-forward/cut-the-crap and get-stuff-done attitude and yet everything is very difficult and complicated to actually get done. Where one email with all the necessary information to all students in the department would suffice, here they seem to have opted for the 'let's see how much the students can figure out/guess for themselves' method. It's a real test of whether you belong there....I suppose. With documents taking days to be ready, the piano department office deciding to close during the first week of term, and two weeks without language or harmony lessons because no one seemed to know which groups people were in let alone who was teaching them, it was all just the icing on a multi-layer cake.

Maybe we are spoilt on the UK or maybe that's where our tuition fees are going, but British universities do at least seem to be more than happy to supply all necessary information to new students in order to make sure everyone knows where they need to be and when. The academy in general feels behind in terms of being a modern-day institution where students are actively studying. Russians love tradition and I'm all for some aspects of tradition myself, for example, the exclusive tour new students are given of Elena Fabianova Gnesina, our founder's, apartment. However, I can't help feeling that things like the teacher typing up questions she wants us to answer for the following lesson and printing a copy for each of us would make sense in order to not waste 30 minutes of precious lesson time writing out the questions as she dictates and another 15 while she figures out how to work the CD player.

There is a standardised educational system for all students, which means that we also have History, Psychology and IT on our schedules in addition to basic music subjects. I did initially get excited about IT, thinking I would become a photoshop warrior in no time at all. Surprise, surprise (or increasingly less so as the case may be), all was not what it seemed. IT in Russian is literally "modern computer science" (современная информатика - sov-re-men-aya in-for-mat-ika). I found it quite ironic that they feel the need to put the word 'modern' in there at all considering that nothing about the lesson or the room is modern by any stretch of the imagination. Old computers, a demo version of an old software that doesn't save your work, and a teacher in a similar state. A classic Soviet reminiscer, Putin-lover, and foreigner-hater - especially Asians and Americans: "American students are less clever so they wouldn't remember everything I said today, but you all will, of course," and "No point speaking to Asians in Russian, they barely understand English. They really need separate lessons and more of them." <-- coming from one of the most technologically advanced countries...
He also never ceases to remind us of his never-ending breadth of experience, qualifications, achievements and knowledge as well as ownership of all the Apple products with "Of course, I already know all this" and "Of course, I already have the new version at home" being regularly-preferred catchphrases.

He commented that "Russian students are the poorest in the world." I am no expert but use of the superlative, based on stories I have heard about students in South America and other Asian countries, might not be completeley accurate. However, I do appreciate that buying a laptop for Russians on an average salary can cost more than a month's wages. This makes quite the change coming from Bristol, where everyone seems to own a Macbook pro or equivalent, quite apparent. [I think I might be the only one here so I try to keep it on the lowdown.] People generally seem to have tablets a lot more than laptops as, I am assuming, it is a cheaper, more practical compromise. Where I am used to half the class typing furiously on laptops as the teacher shares his/her fountain of knowledge, notes here are always taken with a pen and paper during lesson times, with one exception. There was no hiding who's who in our lecture with have with the sound engineers, who were all taking notes on their tablets while some pianists didn't even have a piece of paper with them. Ooops.

I found it interesting that our IT teacher also felt the need to actually ask people to refrain from answering calls during the lesson - something that would never even be considered in the UK. It shows the kind of culture Russian society seems to have turned into over the last few years at an alarming rate. I would say that the phone culture here far surpasses the phone culture in Europe or in Canada. [I have mentioned it before but I am continuing to feel its effects more and more.]

Nothing, I repeat, absolutely nothing will stop a Russian answering their phone when it rings. My piano teacher is very high up the list for guiltiest culprit - texting while I play and leaving the room on several occasions to answer calls just as Sonata no. 5, Mvt.1 by Beethoven is about to reach the recapitulation. My harmony teacher has no qualms about leaving the perfect cadence unresolved, clashing with the key of her ringtone as she strolls across the classroom to pick up the phone. A well-known Russian director I went to see giving a masterclass with multiple TV cameras pointed at him stop mid-sentence as he answered to let the other person know that he "can't talk right now" because he's "giving a masterclass". A well-known Russian actor giving a press conference about a new film festival also made quite the scene up opening his flip phone as he picked up to let his caller know he was a bit busy. And the never ceasing phone conversations during film screenings. I must be missing something. Either Russian phones don't have the 'missed call' function or they don't have 'silent mode'. I can honestly think of no other explanation for this kind of behaviour.

I was warned that life in Moscow would be tough - especially after living in St. Petersburg. I rarely get ill and when I do it doesn't usually last for more than a couple of days. Second week in Moscow, I got ill and I'm still recovering. No amount of lemon, ginger and honey or grated onion* seems to be helping. This could explain the elements of the Russian character that can appear, at times, quite tough and brutal. It's the only way to get through the winter, that's for sure. 

Although, the way people are treated on their birthday makes quite the contrast - as I learnt from the flood of messages that showered the first person in our year to have a birthday. Whereas in the UK, your birthday is an opportunity for your friends to get you as drunk as possible and/or dares to embarrass you or at least keep you in the spotlight all day. Russian birthdays are the opportunity for people to wish you a year full of happiness, joy, success, health, ambition, good friendships, and love to name a few. I can't quite decide which option is better...

I know which one I'm hoping for on my next birthday. The number of 20/21-year-old students that are married or living with partners and engaged is making me feel, dare I say it, quite old and, immersed in such an environment, I can't help feeling that my time is running out. No matter how quickly society is developing here, it is definitely still embedded in the mentality as a very important step for young people as a sign of success and a priority in terms of 'reaching adulthood' and becoming independent (from your parents at least).

Long days means I have a least been able to appreciate how magical Moscow feels late at night. I definitely think the city comes alive with the beautiful multi-coloured lights and a lot less traffic. People walk around without the stress of the working day and the centre of the city feels transformed.

I was reminded of walking around Rome with my mum on our last day there over ten years ago now and I can clearly recall the sensation of endless beauty and possibility that awaited me as we wandered the streets taking in the history and architecture one last time. 

The transformation is similar to that of a snowfall. In England, life stops and cities becomes deserted - completely calm and tranquil. In Russia, it covers all the grime and dirt from the millions of car on the road. In both cases the cities become magical and timeless. 

How different life is on this side of the world,

Lots of love,

A xx

*my flatmate from St. Petersburg's foolproof preventative 

Dream soviet oven - 40-years-old and still works like a dream

Sometime staying late to practise isn't so bad

New pedestrianised area as Moscow finally tries to build a city for people and not for cars

Moscow city lights

There's no place like home.

Two months later and I have finally found the time to write a new post. Ironically, it is a time when I should be in a lecture but horrendous Moscow traffic made me ten minutes late (first lesson I have been late to this term) and the professor wouldn't let me in. [It is by far the most boring lecture but I still don't think the principle is right*] I have also decided to treat you to a two-part post to make up for the long summer break; even though nothing has been published, I still make notes on an almost daily basis of thoughts and observations that I would like to include in future posts so here is an attempt to make sense of some of them.

As always, the summer went by in a flash. It seems that the more I try to fit in, the quicker time passes and by the time I touchdown in Heathrow returning from Vancouver Island, the summer already seems nothing but a hazy, distant blur (and not an alcohol-induced blur I might add).

Arriving to Canada is always somewhat of a shock. As I waited for my luggage in Victoria, I heard one man comment on how renting a car from a well-known car rental company had been "the BEST decision that he had EVER made." I dread to think the kind of life he has lead if that really was the best decision he has ever made. Over the course of the following week, I realised that this seemed to be a common theme amongst other Canadians. A co-worker said that carrot cake being on the dessert menu that day was "the BEST thing that had EVER happened to her." Well, it's always good to appreciate the little things in life, there's no doubt about that. Although slightly over-the-top, it was quite a welcome change after months of serious, sad/angry-looking Russians.

As usual, I wasted no time being jet-lagged and quickly settled back into Canadian life; essentially being given never-ending garden chores by my dear mother. It is always lovely to have the family back together... Birthdays especially: turning 23 on the 23rd was celebrated with a bottle of prosecco on our local beach, which we polished off just in time for a police man to walk past (on a dog inspection) commenting that he hoped "it wasn't an alcoholic beverage in our plastic cups". "Of course not!" I replied with a slightly over-enthusiastic giggle. [Compared to life on the other side of the pond, Canada is much stricter about alcohol consumption with state-controlled liquor stores and two pieces of ID being required to buy alcohol and enter alcoholic-orientated establishments; if only the same could be said for other, more natural, herbal substances. Cough cough.]

Another part of our Canadian life is something, or rather, someone I received when I turned 9 on the 23rd. We have a very clever cat who goes by the name of Bluey, and who has been the main keeper of the house for the last 14 years - he moved in a couple weeks after we did. He always seems to overhear us booking his yearly vet appointment and always manages to embarrasses us by deciding not to come for food on the day of his appointment. This year we were ahead of the game and secretly arranged his appointment behind his back. On the day, a plan had been carefully evolved and by inviting him to "join us" for breakfast in the sunroom, we kept him well confined until it was time to go. Success! On the way back, we decided to take the more scenic route along the water. Thinking aloud, my dear mother commented that it was a shame Bluey has lived so close to the beach all his life, and yet, had never seen the ocean and might not get the chance before he left us. Next thing I know, we've stopped the car and made our way to the water's edge, clutching our poor, confused, terrified cat in our arms as we dip his paws in the chilly, salty water. He got his revenge by peeing on my mother's lap and throwing up all the way back home. At least that's one more thing he can check off his bucket list.

Seeing as both our parents had to take a break out of the summer to fly to various places for work, my brother and I decided that we were finally grown up enough to take a trip of our own. Having never really seen mainland Canada, we made Kelowna our chosen destination (out of a grand total of one option as our friends were there for a couple weeks and had invited us.) Bearing in mind that our vehicles are 22 and 23 years old, we felt that the 22-year-old would be more reliable for the mountainous drive. Mountainous to the extent that there were "runaways tracks" every few kilometres, which resembled dirt walls to restrain potential out-of-control trucks. Mountainous to the extent that our van had to be gently encouraged most of the way by playing Rachmaninoff and Mendelssohn piano concerts. And mountainous to the extent that you enter the freeway greeted by a sign saying '157 km till the next gas station', only to follow directly onto the next freeway after 157 km and be greeted by an almost identical sign saying '75km'. One might think it would be sensible to put the sign at the last gas station, BEFORE entering the freeway. But those sneaky Canadians do like to keep you on your toes. Ironically, we made a pit-stop in a small town called 'Hope' on the way. [My fuel tank light came on just as we were entering Kelowna...] Saying that, we made it there and back in one piece and there is no denying that the drive is absolutely breath-taking. 

Daily swims all summer, reading in the sun, evening card games and fresh food from the garden for lunch and dinner made me very appreciative indeed. My boss at work, when deciding where to go on holiday at the end of summer, very wisely said, 'I mean once you've seen British Columbia, you've seen it all, haven't you.'

And buying a Tim Hortons doughnut at the airport was the BEST decision I have EVER made.

Lots of love,

A xx

The beginning of the ultimate outdoor piano treasure hunt. 

Forty is a magic number.

The pleasure one gets from a dip in the ocean.

Too busy taking a picture and missed the ferry by three cars.

Once you've seen BC, you've seen it all. 

AirBnb views from Joe - who is writing a bass part for my brother to record his next album of 'wood' music.

Hornby-Islanders keep to a tight and rigorous schedule.

*I managed to catch him afterwards and explained why I thought it was unfair. He understood and accepted my points and didn't put me down as absent. 

Some things never change.

Although I would say that I am a fairly-experienced traveller, that still doesn’t seem to ever prevent my baggage from being overweight, and the threat of paying extra is always a very real worry at the check-in desk. I remember the day I bought my huge, bright purple suitcase, thinking it was wonderful that it was so big as it meant that I would always be able to bring everything I wanted with me…. What a silly mistake that was, and little did I know that at the time. Cue countless memories of dragging its heavy, large bottom behind me as I trudge through airports, train stations and cities just trying to find a place to rest my head. 

This summer was no different. Having stayed a extra week in St. Petersburg to enjoy the city as a tourist before joining my family in Canada, I was completely on my own as the unsympathetic lady at the check-in desk in St. Petersburg said there was no way I was getting on the plane with hand luggage that was twice the weight limit and checked baggage that was already too heavy unless I coughed up £60 worth of my hard-earned roubles. Neither my smile or explanations that I am a poor, travelling musician did anything to soften that well-known Russian scowl. I would not be beaten. Thinking quickly after a frustrated walk around the terminal, I came up with the solution of taking out my heaviest books and hiding them with a lovely-looking old lady (who was so early that she was still waiting for her check-in to open) before returning to the check-in desk and lying though a gritted smile that I had called my mum and she had turned around in the car to come back and take the books. The lady at the desk begrudgingly handed over my ticket and I made the plane with a few minutes to spare. [I thanked the old lady profusely and she looked on bewildered as I tried to cram everything back into my suitcase that would barely close].

Running out of money during my last week in St. Petersburg, I did a search for anything free I could do to fill my time. I enjoyed a wealth of free music festivals the city had to offer but was struck by the difference between what I was experiencing and previous experiences of festivals in the UK. Turns out that Russians don't dance. At all. I do and indeed I did, but even to the liveliest and funnest of music, spotting a tapping foot in the crowd was like searching for a needle in a haystack. They also don't drink or smoke. An outdoor festival in England seems to be a great excuse for people to enjoy beer or Pimm's in the sunshine, often with a cigarette in hand. There was not a drink or cigarette to be seen and the most wild drink available for sale was квас (kvas), a popular drink made out of rye bread and so low in alcohol (around 1%) that it is considered non-alcoholic. Although, this probably explains why they don't dance. 

I decided to spend a week in London catching up with old friends before returning to the west coast of Canada for the summer. Coming from the sad lack of multiculturalism in St. Petersburg (unless you count the swarms of tourists who appear to bath in the endless sunlight of ‘white nights’) I was particularly struck by the beauty of the array of languages and cultures one encounters day-to-day in London. I LOVE that the barman can be Spanish, while another one is Italian and the barista is French. Outside you can meet someone from Prague one minute and an Aussie the next. From the girl from Brussels who met an English boy and decided to stay, to the Italian girl in Pret (A Manger) who gave us sandwiches after closing time to Sheila Anne the Londoner who was born in Pakistan and had unbelievably quick wit. All working in London and all there to embrace the culture, learn the language and enjoy the wonderful choice of activity and opportunities the city has to offer.  Over-excited to finally be in the capital for a descent amount of time, my friend and I explored just about the entire city by foot but this didn't mean I was immune to the usual public transport predicament that tends to happen in cities I am less familiar with. Although not entirely my fault, I accompanied my friend to catch her bus up north - having carefully chosen the train times that would get us to the bus station with plenty of time to spare - and we arrived to the bus station without a hitch only to be informed that we were at the wrong bus station. Ironically, straight after a conversation we had had about growing up and maturing and becoming more sensible and organised. Turns out, some things never change - a cheerful note for the day before I turn 23 on the 23rd.

Happy Summering,

A xxx

'Realism' - an interesting take on modern day society

7am post-dancing walks with friends

The view that steals my heart every time

The iconic beach in the middle of St P that has changed since my mother was a child

And the view very close-up

London walks and London talks

Alcohol in breakfast products.

I had to do a Russian literature exam the other day. 

A terrifying prospect, but made somewhat easier by the fact that it was multiple choice and the word for a multiple-choice test in Russian is угадайка (oo-ga-da-i-ka) that derives from the verb угадать (oo-ga-dat) meaning 'to guess'. 
[So to all those at uni that used to moan about having to revise for multiple-choice tests....]  

Although I am reaching the end of my first academic year in Russia, having unexpectedly stayed 6 months longer than planned, cultural differences continue to shock and surprise me. I wonder how long you have to live somewhere before you become fully accustomed to the people and the place. 

On a recent late-night trip to a nearby shop with my flatmate, having stopped in the dairy aisle, I decided to take advantage of his presence by asking him to explain the unknown products there that I still hadn't managed to figure out. 'Kefir' is a pro-biotic, fermented thick milk drink [for first-timers it might seem like sour milk] that I had already been lucky enough to have the opportunity to try on a trip to Moscow with my mother during my early teenage years, however, a bottle between the milk and kefir caught my eye. 

"There's alcohol in that one..", my flatmate joked. 

Turns out it wasn't a joke. Hidden among the most innocent of breakfast products was a type of kefir with the addition of alcohol to really make sure you have a great start to the day. Good morning, Russia. Good morning indeed. 

Coming to the end of my stream of auditions, I have been left needing to make the choice between St. Petersburg and Moscow for my next academic year. People have warned me that moving to the capital after St. Petersburg wouldn’t be easy and the question is whether I’m ready for “real” Russia; those who don’t live in St. Petersburg often claim it isn’t really Russian as it is far too European. [<— Although I beg to differ and I would sometimes even argue that it is not European enough for my liking….but that’s personal taste of course.]

While St. Petersburg values the importance of a work-play balance, Moscow is work, work, work - the pace of life is cranked into full speed and you have no choice but to keep up. Although if you're lucky, you might be able to catch up on sleep during the 90 minutes it takes you to get anywhere around the enormous city (nearly twice the area of London).  

St. Petersburg is by no means small, yet I rarely feel the overwhelming sense of size, which greets you the moment your step outside your front door in Moscow. In St. Petersburg, the high-rises tend to be concentrated around metro stations outside of the centre, which allows me to live in my cosy central bubble without feeling the cluster-phobic effect of the millions living in the city around me. A city where I already have my favourite coffee places and where I can get to anywhere I need to go within 40-60 mins as a lot of the city is (technically) walkable. A city where I can suddenly decide to go to a concert or a play or meet a friend for dinner last-minute and where most restaurants and bars are affordable. Although it is very hard to overlook the weather. Especially when more than 3 hours of daylight during the winter months is optimistic. Prior to moving, everyone warned me about the cold - fine, you buy yourself a good coat - but no one warned me about the lack of sunlight and the huge effect this has on your energy levels. As mammals, my body definitely didn’t understand why it couldn’t just go into permanent hibernation for a couple of months. During the winter, I was never able to get up before 11:30am and I remember coming back from Moscow one morning at around 10am and being shocked that it was still pitch black outside.

Moscow is a city that just feels inherently “Russian” in the sense of size, power and majesty. There is just so much space and so many cars. And there are millions and millions of people (around 17 or 18 million). Towers are spread throughout the centre and complimented by the 10-lane roads that connect them, the space between them only emphasising the power and grandeur that they represent. While others cities tend to have high-rises and towers concentrated in one part of the city - often in the centre - with small roads between them giving you the feeling of being in a maze and with the buildings getting smaller as you get towards the suburbs, here it’s the other way around. 

This, undoubtedly, has an effect on the people living there. Living in Moscow is about working. Socialising seems to be a very much side-lined activity and hard to program outside of work considering the time it takes to get anywhere and the very loose ‘working day’ which can end anywhere between 5 and 11pm. Nice areas to walk around or meet friends for coffee or lunch are limited and are in any case often quite expensive. The slightly better climate means that the 7-day working week can continue, without question, all through the winter. Not a second to waste.  

So a choice needs to be made. Do I let myself get swept up in the rapidly-changing, constantly high pace of life in Moscow or do I stay in the comfort of a city that feels slightly closer to home.

[Or....do I just run away to Italy. A recent stopover there, after a concert in Germany, confirmed that true love never dies. After a brief moment of forgetting the word for ’sun’ and repeating the Russian word over and over again, my brain switched into gear and everything came flooding back. Eating three weeks worth of pasta, pizza and ice-cream accompanied by Aperol and Italian house wine over the few days just about managed to satisfy my cravings.]

For now, though, I going to take full advantage of 23-hour daylight with late-night bike rides, early morning walks followed by yoga and last-minute evening trips to the theatre and maybe the odd glass of wine on a rooftop. 

Winters are for sleeping and summers are for playing.

Lots of love,

Masha xxx

St. Petersburg's surprise summer storms - keeping you on your toes

Late-night, post-theatre river love

Midnight, white night, bike night

Middle of the night sunrise

Popping back to Berlin for a few days, keeping it real and keeping me sane.