Dolphin Down

Red Square

                I have been here almost two weeks now. Feels like two months! The apartment is coming along, slowly. We now have internet. The dolphin faucet was taken out the day after I arrived because it shot water in all directions. Now, the shower head shoots water out of all the seams.  We have discovered the oven door does not latch. The washer broke last night and flooded the floor and doused the downstairs neighbor’s kitchen (and new wallpaper).  

                We met our downstairs neighbor because of this. Someone rings our doorbell.  My roommate opens the door and in bursts this middle aged man in his boxers and tank top. He was angry at first, but calmed down when he saw we were hurrying to clean up and remedy the problem. He was very friendly. I am always amazed who speaks English in this country!

                Oh and my other roommate finally has a door! After all that waiting and build up, it is just a cheap, plastic accordion door with a three inch gap between the floor and the door. So there is privacy, but he still can hear everything.  I guess it took the handymen several hours to install this door too.

                Yesterday we finally, after all this time of promising, made it to Ashan. Ashan is like the Walmart of Russia. It just too far away to go shopping before or after work. So, we had to go on Saturday. This is the same day that everyone else goes.  It was quite the experience.

                First, it is a huge warehouse. Secondly, the products were placed wherever there was room. So I found towels in six different places. You don’t know the price of anything, because the tags don’t match. Also there are fifty people and their carts piled into an isle that also is full of crates and pallets. While you are in this traffic jam, a forklift sweeps in, scooping up customers in its wake, to remove a crate or add a crate. You are only in the way of sales associates; they shove you out of the way and hit you with carts repeatedly until you move out of the way. I saw one sales associate hit a kid with her cart. The kid fell down and started crying. Everyone ignored the kid and stepped over him in their mad rush to get their bargains (which, like Walmart, isn’t really that much of a bargain).  My co-workers are in a constant battle of which is a better place to shop: Ikea or Ashan. I’m joining the Ikea side…

                It was great to be able to come back with home goods!  I finally have a duvet! The size was incorrectly marked, so it is too small for the bed, but I don’t care! I worked too hard and fought too many grandmas to get this duvet, plus carried it all the way to the metro and home! We finally have metal cutlery! And I bought some beer… again I chose a place with horrible taste in beer. 

On our way from Ashan to the metro, we have to walk through this ghost town. It is all new construction of bus stops and malls and government buildings. They are all empty, no people and no buses. There are four lane streets with only one or two cars at a time on them.  The only habited places are the Ashan and a yacht club, which has constant helicopter traffic, making walking to the metro a bit windy.

I guess I have been away from reality for far too long, because none of this actually surprises me. The only reason I know it is weird is because Kieran and Oliver talk about it so much and are so amazed by it.  They are the ones who stood in awe as I shouldered a big burly muscle-head out of the way of the beets. They stopped too take pictures of yachts parked alongside cars in a parking lot and the helicopter landing on the sidewalk. However, I did watch the dwarf sing and dance while his handicap friend played pirate music on the accordion on the metro… it was just too Eastern European.

Ok, I guess you all are wondering about my work. I teach privately, one on one every day but Friday. Fridays I go all the way across Moscow (about an hour on the metro) to an English academy.  I teach English conversation to 11 and 12 year olds. We sit in a café and talk. It is nice, but difficult at times. I have one talkative student who is into music, robotics, and nanotechnology, a student who “only likes to sleep” (her words), and one kid who has reached the age of not liking anything.  He gets along well with the barista who, judging by her attitude, doesn’t like anything either.

After  English convo, I head to the kindergarten down the street to teach drama to a group of students ages nine to thirteen. They are amazing kids so far, very active, very open.  They have just been studying Russian folk tales, so they had to tell me the folk tales. One girl told us “Little Red Riding Hood.” When her classmate said that it wasn’t Russian she said, “Well Little Red Riding Hood was bringing her grandmother some vodka! So there! Now it is Russian!”

I told them a Native American story. This story has Coyote, Man, and other animals as being one family. The reaction was hilarious, “Wait! What kind of family is this!?! Their mother must be crazy!” And when I finished the story, one student asked if coyotes are still alive and I said, yes of course. The student replied, “Amazing. They seem quite stupid.”  This is the end of my week…

                 I start the week off with a four year old boy in the center of Moscow. He is a spoiled little thing, but so cute. His mother, or nanny (cannot tell), is crazy. She has so much energy and babbles on and on in Russian. I have no idea what she is saying half the time and she has some kind of scheme that the child thinks is amazing. But whatever, it seems to work, and by the end of the day the child has spoken a few English words and hugs and kisses me goodbye.

                I go from there to a nine year old girl a few metro stops away. Her mother speaks fluent English and sits in on the lesson. Making it nerve wracking for all involved. But so far, luckily, the mother has had nothing but nice things to say about the lessons. I just think her daughter would be more receptive if Mom wasn’t around all the time.

                After that I go back towards home to an eight year old boy. He is quite active. The first day he brought out an English picture dictionary and turned to the ladies’ underwear section, demanding to know how to pronounce the words.  Also, he confessed his undying love for Hannah Montana.  Finally, at 8:30 I can head home.

St. Basil's Cathedral

                Tuesdays and Thursdays I get on a mini bus and go out of town to the dachas. These are where the wealthy ex-soviet workers live. I teach in a neighborhood behind the President’s neighborhood, so security is very strict and guns are trained on you at all times. The houses are quite unimpressive on the outside, but stunning on the inside. Every room has a chandelier and some stained glass, expensive hardwood furniture, etc.

                One client has a driver, so he comes and picks me up to take me to the next neighborhood and next client. This house is bigger and even more impressive. There is a wing for the help. There is an indoor pool, a bathroom especially for the dog and cat, and my student has a jungle gym in his room. These students are only 11 and can speak English fluently. So fluently in fact, the boy often uses “Man, what the hell!?!” and informed me that in America, when Mom is dating someone other than her husband, this boyfriend is referred to as “Uncle.”

                By the time I finish with this client, the buses have stopped for the night, so the driver takes me all the way back into the city to the metro. This is my favorite time, because I can sit back and watch the snow-covered aspens. It is so incredibly flat everywhere in Moscow, that it is amazing when I come out of the city and find rolling hills. Which, one day I learned are quite steep.

                I went with a co-worker who was supposed to show me how to get to a client’s house. Well, he got off on the wrong bus stop. Instead of waiting for the next bus, he charged on ahead. I will have you know, he had no idea where he was going. So we hiked over the hills (in three feet deep snow), crossed a frozen river (so freaking scary!), and walked along neighborhood walls with guns trained on us. I was not a happy camper. He was so shocked that there was no wifi for his GPS that he got lost. Miraculously, my survival instincts took hold and I got us out of the woods and amazingly, to the client’s house and only five minutes late!  Now I know that if he thinks walking is a good idea, to just let him go and I’ll wait for the bus.  

Whenever I drive by with the driver, I point to the woods and say, “I walked there” and the driver looks at me in amazement and goes “Silly American girl.” (I think this is the only English he knows). The driver tried to teach me how to drive too. He showed me how to start the car and put it into gear. He and his co-worker put me in the driver’s seat one day and showed me how to start the car. He was amazed when he discovered that I already know how to drive!

Wednesday is the same as Monday. So every day is a new adventure thanks to my crazy clients.  I think I will enjoy them more after I have kicked this “epidemic” that has spread across Moscow.