And everybody wasn't Kung Fu fighting... Part One

This post is less of a Russia thing, and more of a me being myself sort of thing. I say this only because I'm 99% sure that this sort of thing would have happened even had I been in the United States; my being in Russia, however, simply compounded my natural tendency to have completely awkward and not entirely helpful exchanges.

You see, I've been on a quest since before I even left the US: I have wanted to take some Sambo while in Russia, as it's the martial art that originated in Russia and it is quite rare in the US.

The moment I got my address, I was scouring Google, trying to find the closest dojo to where I was supposed to live and comparing class availability, cost, etc. I found one location near my old living situation, and I was rejoicing; I moved to a new location, and discovered there was a Sambo dojo (is that even the right word for Sambo?) less than fifteen minutes. Surely, victory was mine!

Well, flash forward to current times, starting on week two of my second month in Russia: I've still not been to a Sambo dojo, much less taken a Sambo class. And while school played a huge part of it, an even larger problem is that I've been terrified of making the phone call.

You see, my Russian skills are what they would call sub-par. They're decent for a foreigner; but for a Russian, all I need to do is open my mouth and they're speaking slower, using smaller words and looking half sympathetic and half in pain as they listen to me struggle to talk. (And I thought people only did that when I was speaking English...)

But finally, yesterday I plucked up the courage to call... and it was a total disaster. The conversation goes roughly like this:

Me: Hello?

Russian Man: Hello, I'm listening.

Me: My name is Katy Wyatt. I am interested in studying Judo.

Russian Man: We're interested in studying Judo, too.

Me: When do you have classes?

Russian Man: Well, that depends. Who is it for? Is it for your child?

Me: .... Uh, no, me.

Russian Man: And what exactly do you want to study Judo for?

Me: ... Uh... Because I like Judo. 

Russian Man: Okay, well, lkjgdhoisarjgklhdsfjdiolkgkjksadgihrjansekdjgbdjrsdiljk (I still have absolutely no idea what he said)

Me: Uh, one more time, please? I don't speak Russian very well...

Russian Man: Yeah, I know. (His voice was dripping in sarcasm at this point.) If you want to take Judo, there are classes on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and _____________ (I missed the last word). It's in the evenings. Do you understand that it's in the evenings?

Me: Umm, yes, thank you... Goodbye.

In English, this exchange does not sound very interesting. However, if one were to listen to the Russian I was speaking and see the look of absolute terror and confusion on my face, it would be easy to tell why when I hung up the phone I literally put my head down in shame.

Even so, I did come away with one valuable piece of information: The classes were on Tuesdays and Thursdays, at some point in the evening.

But when in the evening? "Evening", for me, at least, could mean as early as 5 and as late as 10. As I couldn't live with my shame any longer (I've become terrible at being a martial arts nerd), I resolved that I would leave my house by 4:30, and find the studio (might as well just call it a martial arts studio) since Google Maps wasn't showing me where exactly it was.

Flash forward to 4:30: I've left my house, and I'm in the general area of where the studio should be. I've wandered around the back of the building, having a hunch that Google couldn't find the place because it's in one of those strange courtyards. Sure enough, I wander up to a building that has the exact address that the studio claims to have... except I can't shake the feeling that there wouldn't be a martial arts studio in a yellow preschool building that's been painted with giant flowers all over it. Catching sight of another building past the fence, I wander towards it before realizing I still have no idea where the place could be.

Here's where I should mention another one of the strange phobias I've developed since being in Russia: I'm afraid of asking strangers questions. It's not only because I'm terrified that I'll mispronounce something and get myself into a horrible situation, or at the very least that the person will have no idea what I'm saying; I'm also dreadfully embarrassed at the high likelihood that someone WILL understand what I've asked, and then while they're answering I'll be washed away in a flood of mute and nodding incomprehension. 

And so far, every time I've asked a stranger something, they've either not understood or else I've been just as confused when I stopped talking to them than when I did. However, as finding this studio was not only a point of pride, but of necessity (I've been missing martial arts terribly), I once again plucked up my courage and asked someone if they knew where the appropriate sports club was located.

At first, he didn't understand my question; and then, once I helplessly repeated it, I didn't understand the answer. But then, the most embarrassing part of all ensued when I turned around and watched him walk towards the building: There was a giant sign with the sports club name next to the door of the building I had literally just walked past.

There's a reason I saved this as "illustration of my shame".

If I had just turned around before I asked the stranger where the club was, I would have known exactly where to go and not made a fool of myself. As it was, I got to sheepishly follow after the stranger into the building before he led me upstairs to the main offices.

And, as you probably guessed, the first person I spoke to upon reaching upstairs? The man who I spoke to on the phone yesterday. Once again, we had an exchange in Russian, 90% of which I did not understand; and then, horrifically confused, I wandered downstairs and tried to make sense of everything. All I knew is that somewhere downstairs, there was a lady teaching a children's class, and that she was the one I needed to talk to. After wandering around the lobby in circles, trying to read everything and making sense of nothing, I eventually realized that the room that I needed to go to in order to get information was through the gym.

I only realized this after the stranger who had helped me find my way awkwardly passed me in order to go work out, and when he opened the door, I heard children yelling. After slowly putting two and two together, I took off my shoes and headed into the workout room, where the stranger was working out by himself.

Not wanting to interrupt class, I decided that I would wait outside, and thus, I sat at the only bench in the entire gym. But even such a simple action was destined to be horrifically awkward, as the bench was situated facing the workout station where the stranger was lifting weights. After awkwardly loitering near the door near the class, I finally gave up and sat on the bench, doing my best to look at anything other than the Russian male pumping weights directly in front of me. (It's rude to look at anyone when they're working out, especially when I have a nagging suspicion I'm going to run into him again tonight.)

Finally, while I was still awkwardly hanging around (notice how many times that word has come up?), the man from upstairs appeared in the doorway and asked me if I had spoken with the martial arts instructor yet. I responded with, "No, I didn't want to interrupt class," and as soon as he said, "Oh, I understand," he called over the instructor and interrupted class. (Attempt: fail.)

Apparently, he must have told the instructor about "the girl who sucked at speaking Russian last night", because when she came to the doorway, he had to say one word and motion to me before she knowingly nodded. Once again, my Russian conversation skills floundered:

Instructors: j;liaghsjkldgjohrjkldgjoh?

Me: Uh.... I'm American?

Instructors: Oh, okay! ;ladglhkjslgolamsjfdhgjoapkjgjnakmal;lgojih, for example, 2011, 2001, 2003?

Me: Um... I'm twenty years old.

Instructors: Great! Class is on __________________ days, at ____________ times.

And that was how I finally got myself set up to take martial arts classes. 

Of course, I was so happy and excited that I promptly performed my ritual of nearly getting hit by a car because I was distracted by my happiness (no, that really is a ritual-- and it happens all the time in the US, too), and after having discovered just how high my voice can jump when a car honks at me, I scuttled home and started on this post.

There is definitely going to be a part two of this post, considering that this is how it went BEFORE I got to class. As those who know me can verify, I'm not one of those people who is physically gifted; many times, I get screamed at in class for not listening to directions (deservedly so), and my instructors are quite used to me having no idea how to coordinate the left and right side of my body in order to do things in a way that is not entirely stupid and ineffective. I'm hoping to put up the second part tonight, assuming that I haven't collapsed from exhaustion (due to the fact that I'm now horrifically out of shape) or in tears (due to the fact that my Russian skills made class so horrifically embarrassing that I'm considering never leaving my room, much less my apartment, again). Either way, at the end of today, we all get to laugh at whatever happens, just because it's hilarious as long as you're not me.