This is Halloween

So, I've officially decided that Russia is a "Nightmare Before Christmas" fan. True, it did start snowing last night (prompting me to burst into song while walking home), but THIS was my view from the window this morning:

For those who are wondering, yes, this is a bit early for snow-- according to my host mom, the snow usually doesn't hit until late November. But that's not stopping Russia.

Because, in my opinion, this would be SO much better of an explanation for why it's snowing today.

Anyways, with how late I got home last night, I decided to go to bed (which I failed miserably at, in case you were wondering) rather than write a blog post about yesterday, so here we go:

Morning started off with hitting up the St. Isaac's Cathedral (there will be a full review whenever I get the pictures), then lunch at Happiness (again, going to be a review soon). After that, we decided that one museum in a day wasn't enough, so we went to the Museum of the History of Religion (and a review on that one coming up, too.)

After that, we had a Russian-style Halloween party. Now, this was HILARIOUS because Russians

1) Have no idea what you're supposed to do for Halloween;
2) Have no idea how to bob for apples;
3) Cheat horribly at Musical Chairs (except for when one of the exchange students won; but that was before the epic cheating); and
4) Think it's okay to have living pieces of their Halloween costume.

No, I do not mean that someone was wearing a bunch of live snakes sewn together on their head for Medusa (though that would be epically intense, and I would give them props for being brave enough to have those angry snakes writhing around near their face). What I'm talking about is one of the girls came as a witch and decided to bring her black cat on a leash.

With America's obsession with little, itty-bitty dogs, I'm surprised that we still haven't taken the logical step to cats on leashes. Maybe it's because we feel that it's inhumane. Maybe it's because we don't want the arm workout. Either way, seeing that poor, terrified kitten getting dragged by a leash was equal parts adorable and sad.

Anyways, party ends, and then I go to Judo. Total fail, by the way. I've realized that I learned how to do a lot of things differently than they do; and so, when they're doing the forward rolls into standing up, or backwards rolls into a handspring, I can't do that because (somehow) they're going straight over their own heads, whereas I'm going at an angle. This was my only moment of clarity for the entire class; after that, it was learning and practicing moves while having no idea what was going on, somehow tweaking my ankle (it's fine now) but having to frantically indicate to the Russian people to the best of my ability that they could not, for example, use my foot as a crank for the knee bar (might as well show you want I'm talking about):

Considering this was the motion that was hurting, my head would've exploded.

... as well as begging them to not do an ankle lock on that foot. However, class was over, I punched something harder than I should've, and with a collapsed knuckle (hey, at least they match) and a slight limp, I headed home singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" and "Let it Snow" as loud as I could without people hearing me. (Snow, by the way, does wonders for icing injuries; my knuckle is already back to almost being normal.)

So that was yesterday. I do have to admit, seeing a cat on a leash and a little kid carrying a big one (like, one two feet taller) invokes the same feeling of sadness and adorability. Yesterday was just... unique. And from the way today has started off, today is going to be just as special as well.

And everybody wasn't Kung Fu fighting, Part Two: Or, the post I REALLY should have called "And Now for Something Completely Different"

I have a bit of an issue with overthinking things. I recognize this from many past experiences; but it became especially relevant as I was heading over to class.

As I was walking down the newly paved asphalt and vaguely noticing street traffic (such as the motorcyclist who was revving his motorcycle full-throttle before lifting the front 45 degrees off the ground-- this is the second time I've seen this-- or the car that was parked in the middle of an intersection, directly in front of an alcohol store), I realized that, while the lady in charge had given me the when of the class, she hadn't told me where to go. After all, there are two levels in the building, and I know that the martial arts club takes up both of them; which one would it be?

Upon reaching the building, I decided I would check out upstairs, just to make sure that classes wouldn't be held there. The first room I wander by is filled with shirtless men punching each other, which was a dead giveaway that it was Thai boxing. As I'm considering the probability of them letting me take that class (sparring could be fun), I wander over to the next room and walk in front of an open doorway filled with men wearing nothing but their boxers.

This, my friends, was my first deer-in-the headlights moment of the night.

Stammering my apologies as quickly as I could, I turned and fled. As my high-heeled boots clicked down the hallway, I could've sworn I saw more than a few of the boys stop, turn, and stare as if I was a magical unicorn.

Rushing back downstairs, I decided that it would be safe to assume that I shouldn't be upstairs (given the fact that men were changing clothes with the door wide open), so I went into the bathroom, changed, and awkwardly waited downstairs.

First huge difference between martial arts in the US and Russia? Even martial arts studios, when you're in Russia, you need to bring tapochki on your person at all times. (Tapochki are Russian house shoes-- or, as we Americans like to say, slippers.)

I don't know how long it was until the other students started arriving-- time felt indeterminably long-- but the time went by even slower once the other students arrived. One by one, each person went from walking in the room and shaking hands to momentarily staring at me and going quiet. For the rest of the class, I ended up becoming known as the "devyshka"-- literally, the young lady.

There are some perks, however, to being a female in Russia. For example, before class started, all the men (meaning everyone else) were sent outside to go rake the leaves surrounding the building. When I asked if I could go out and help, I was told to sit back and relax. (Considering I was wearing short sleeves and capris, I was rather grateful to not have to go out into the cool autumn night.)

Finally, as everyone arrived and practiced the now familiar ritual of shaking hands, being friendly, and then stopping momentarily at the sight of me, we all shuffled out onto the mat and Judo class started.

At first, I was feeling pretty good-- we ran around a bit, which is normal, and then started doing forward rolls. I was rather pleased, as I wasn't as rusty as I expected to be; and then we started doing backwards rolls. This was the first time that I stepped off to the side; the person going after me was coming with quite a bit of momentum, and obviously he couldn't look behind me. I leapt back into line when it was my turn, completing three or four backwards rolls when I noticed the next move was...

Entirely impossible for someone of my physical coordination.

Everyone was doing backward rolls into back handsprings. Considering I can't even do a handstand against the wall, I decided that this would be my cue to play the newby card and step off to the side. I was increasingly glad that I did so, as they proceeded from doing backward rolls into back handsprings into plain back handsprings; then from rolls to rolls jumping over people laying down. (While I know I'm physically capable of it, my fear of jumping over people got the best of me, and I had the shame of gingerly skirting off to the side and doing a bad front roll in front of everyone in the class, twice. Suffice it to say, this is one phobia I'm going to be urgently working to resolve soon...)

Then they were doing rolls jumping over people who were STANDING. And then they went from rolls to backflips. All the while, I just stood in the corner, being simultaneously impressed and ashamed.

Finally, class started, and we were all paired off. Apparently, they were expecting that I would be a complete and utter newby (I wouldn't blame them, given the wide-eyed look of terror I had during the warm-up), because upon watching me side fall, back fall and front fall, my partner stepped back and muttered, "You've done this before, haven't you?"

I got paired with either the second or third highest ranking student in the class, who I am calling from here on out "Intense" (partially because I like code names, and partially because I still legitimately have no idea what his name is. More on that later).

Now came the interesting part: doing the actual moves while not understanding a word anyone was saying. Some of the moves were things that I have never seen before in my life (for example, a move where you start on your knees, face down between your partner's legs, then somersault and catch their knees with your feet to drag them to the ground in front of you); others were moves that I had done before, but completely and utterly forgotten how to do (like the gator roll). Intense was wonderfully patient with me, especially considering all I could do was try to catch bits and pieces of what he was saying and watch his gestures in order to figure out what I was doing wrong.

As anyone who's ever had the unfortunate experience of working with me in martial arts can tell you, I have a bit of a problem being able to tell which side I'm supposed to use and when. I oftentimes call this being "side retarded"; but what this basically ends up meaning is that while I can generally grasp the footwork and hand position separately, when it comes to doing them together, I'll oftentimes have them switched (so, for example, proper hand positioning for if I was using my left side, but the proper footwork for using my right side. Yes, that works as little as you would expect it to.)

Compounding the issue was the fact that we were working in a group of three with a white belt, who was used as the dummy for every move that was being taught. (No, I'm not code-naming him "Dummy".) By the end of class, the white belt had this (rather annoying) tendency to interrupt me while I was trying to figure out what to do, literally grab me, and try to move me so that I was doing whatever it was "correctly". (At least one time, it ended up turning out that I was doing it correctly before, and that he moved me into an incorrect position.) I also felt rather bad, as Intense spent so much time trying to make sure that I knew exactly what I was doing (with me nodding in bewilderment and not understanding a word that he said) that he pretty much forgot to work in the white belt unless the white belt made a point of reminding him that he was there.

By the end of the class, Intense figured out that I learn better if I see what exactly I have to do and manage to put everything together (plus, by then, I think he realized that even if he had the most brilliant explanation of all time, I'd probably only understand three words), so the rest of the class ended up going something like this:

*Note: For those who know martial arts: I promise that I am fully aware that those are four entirely different moves, and that two of them are actually being done by practitioners of Jiu Jitsu. However, considering the alternative was trying to draw different parts of set-ups using stick figures on Paint, I figured that this would have to suffice for illustrative value. End note.*

Finally, we got to do grappling, which was fun; I sort of missed the point at first (I kept thinking we were doing free grappling, when really all they wanted to see me do was slowly try things), and even when I did get into the swing of things, I kept accidentally breaking the rules by grappling like we were doing Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. (Totally my fault.) After feigning incomprehension when the white belt volunteered that I sit out for a round, I managed to participate in all three rounds of grappling; and then, my first martial arts class in over a month and a half was done.

Well, mostly.

Everyone stops grappling, and then, as if on cue, all but one person (not including me) takes off their shirt. I've always thought that American martial artists had a fondness for going shirtless after class; but apparently, these Russians make the American love of shirtlessness look like an elementary school crush. I awkwardly stretched and tried to do anything that would mean not looking at these incredibly in-shape martial artists (all of whom, might I add, were around my age) while trying to keep my expression as neutral as possible.

(I do have to point out, however, that I was both amused and proud that at one point, when the white belt that had worked in my group was doing punches against a bag nailed into the wall, the only thing I was paying attention to was the angle of his elbows, as in Krav and Tang Soo Do such form would be called chicken winging. Maybe it's a Thai Boxing thing.)

After what felt like a lifetime (and many insane displays of athleticism; I have never seen a person be able to do sit ups hanging upside-down by their feet before), the tobaks (or gi tops) finally went back on, we bowed out, and class was over.

The moment I started heading out the door, one of the guys (who hadn't talked to me at all during the class) motions me over. I have no idea what he wants until he asks, "Are you taking a shower?"

Difference from the US number two: Apparently, Russians do actually use the studio shower after taking martial arts. This is not to say that studios do not have showers; all I mean, is that I don't know a single person who has ever used it.

Even if the group was nothing but women, there was no way that I could ever bring myself to go into a public shower. Besides, I live quite close to the studio; so I ended up saying, "No, thank you" and trying to go grab my clothes.

The head instructor stared at me. "You're not taking a shower?"

"Uh, no," I quickly answered. "I live really close to here, so I might as well take it there."

She stared at me for several seconds more before verifying, "But you'll take a shower once you get home?"

Considering how disgusting I felt? That would have happened immediately, even if she hadn't asked me. Nodding, the head instructor explained where I should change, and once I grabbed my stuff, I went into the bathroom, klutzily changed (I wouldn't have blamed the head instructor if she thought I was trying to demolish the bathroom-- I hit the bathroom sink and managed to accidentally kick the door while changing into simple street clothes) and then happily headed out the door, just to nearly walk into one of the students who was wearing no more than the smallest compression shorts I have ever seen.

Sure enough, almost every member of the class save one or two was wearing nothing but their boxers. Not only that, but if I happened to accidentally see them, they made sure to make eye contact, too.

Yeah. I'm wearing nothing but my boxers. No shame.

I did what any reasonable girl in the middle of a room filled with near-naked men would do: fled. And I just happened to flee unsuccessfully, because the door I had entered through was locked.

Unfortunately, as luck would have it, the door that was unlocked was on the other side of the room filled with near-naked men.

I was turning around to leave when I noticed that Intense was walking down the stairs. I wanted to say thank you, and ask him his name when I suddenly noticed that his arm instinctively flinched towards him.

And that was when I noticed he was wearing nothing but a towel.

"Uh," I quickly stammered, trying to make sure I was squarely looking him in the eye, "thank you again."

"Uh," he stammered back, "yeah, no problem."

I turned, frantically tugging at the door (as if my needing a quick escape would somehow manage to magically unlock it) as Intense quickly fled the premise. And then, making sure to avoid looking at anyone and anything, I finally made it to the other side of the room, put my shoes on, and left as quickly as I could.

Overall, I had a fantastic time last night. Classes were fun, even though I had no idea what people were saying and missed basically all of the humor. But the people at this club are really friendly, admirably patient (I probably would have slapped myself if I were in Intense's shoes), and it's great to finally get moving again. I can't tell if the other students are tolerating me, like me, are intrigued (kind of like watching a car crash-- you can't look away), or hate me... But that's what makes coming back and trying to learn the language better that much more fun. That, and hopefully Russians are secretly as fond of clothing as I am.

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.