Fools (&) Russian

So, last Thursday and Friday I went around to the different schools to observe the various classes. The kids all seem super cute but the teachers are much meaner than in the US (the first teacher I observed—who luckily I won’t be working with—actually growled like a pit bull when one of the kids mis-conjugated a verb and then told him very matter-of-factly not to be an idiot.) In a couple of the classes I stood up and did a little introduction which basically consisted of me pointing to Boston on a map. One teacher made me spell “Massachusetts” which I did very nervously. I had just witnessed a child be pretty severely reprimanded for not spelling a word correctly so my knees were ever so slightly quivering as I told the teacher to erase the fourth “s” and add an extra “t”. I looked it up as soon as I got home and let out a huge sigh of relief.

One teacher let her students ask me questions about life in America. Some of the questions I got:

- Do you watch “les experts: Miami” (the French version of CSI)? Answer: no

- Do you write with feather pens? Answer: sadly, no

I finished observing Friday afternoon and then it was time for some FIG-ing.

Naturally, our first stop was the food stand area. Cheeses, sausages, breads, pastries, chocolates and more from all over France. It was awesome (though that hopeful look you get from the vendors as you munch on your free sample is hard for me to take).

The three of us went to a food demonstration with an acclaimed pastry chef and a very odd presenter who for some reason was dressed like a vampire. Now, I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that, for the French, pastry is no laughing matter. That assumption turned out to be pretty wrong in this case however, as the whole thing turned into something like a French farce. The tarte they made sur-scène (as opposed to the pre-made tarts they garnished at the end) was completely ruined and they kind of eff-ed up the oven in the process by coating one of the racks with plastic wrap. The finished product wasn’t anything special—it just looked like a cake with a lot of junk piled on top of it—and I cannot speak to how it tasted since I was rudely nudged out of the taster’s circle by two very large, round men.

The next morning I went to a talk at the library where the author of a book called “A Funny Russian Novel” was speaking. Turns out that the title was rather deceptive since the talk soon evolved into a discussion of what a poor state Russia is currently in. Not funny.

I met up with Alex in the afternoon and we went to a concert in the cloister behind the cathedral. It was a Russian/Martinique-an group which seemed to specialize in beat-boxing and weird didgeridoo-esque vocalizations, but there was some normal stuff thrown in there as well.

Later that night we went to a see a Russian pianist who was very very good. The theater though was a little strange as it slanted upwards rather than downwards (Alex: “I feel like I’m in an airplane that’s just started to take off”) and had a rather odd seat-numbering system that still remains a bit of a mystery.

The concert finally ended after about 30 encore performances (I started to feel bad for the woman, I think she just couldn’t say no. Finally someone turned on the houselights and that was that). After that, we met up with Alex’s teacher friend and her husband and we all went next door for a drink and another concert which turned out to be the same Russian/Martinique-an group that we had seen earlier that day. Besides the lead singer’s wardrobe change from cowboy to Chinese peasant, their performance was pretty much identical but we had fun anyways.

Sunday: After some early morning class preparations, I met up with one of the girls I’d met at orientation and the German assistant that was living with her. We went back to the food market (which was a repeat I was more than happy to do since it involved more free samples) and then watched some dances in the street, and went to a big book fair, and perused the Russian gift stands. After the girls left to catch their train, I headed back to the internat in order to give myself plenty of time to worry about my first day of work tomorrow.