I moved. Am Alive.

I moved earlier this week, then taught and taught some more. I'm exhausted, but alive. I'll update the blog with something more substantial later this weekend or early next week. Expect it to be my usual level of substantial, which is to say not really at all.

Dear Foreigner on the Metro,

With the sullen expression and impromptu shining of the shoes, you almost had me fooled. You even had a shoe shine brush! That shows dedication, and for that I salute you. You put up a valiant effort, but it wasn't quite good enough. With your bearded face, curious eyes darting back and forth, and England flag proudly beaming from your tuque, you still stood out like a sore thumb. Better luck next week.

Yours truly,

Barbie

Tired of Saying I Hadn't Been to Red Square, I Finally Went

A month after arriving, it started to be a bit embarrassing to admit that no, I hadn't bothered to go to Red Square yet. My excuses, that it was far from my apartment and would still be there next week, did translate to survival level English, nor did they impress my English speaking coworkers. So, almost a month after arriving, I went. The centre of Moscow is considerably more impressive looking than my neighborhood.

Bolshoi Theatre. From what I found on Google, it's more impressive inside. They're currently renovating it, so who knows.

GUM, a department store, because of course there is a massive structure full of overpriced goods framing one side of Red Square. Nice looking building, at least.

St. Basil's Cathedral. This is exactly how I used to imagine my dream home. When I was 5 years old. I'm pretty sure that the domes you see here taste like candy canes. At the very least, they are definitely edible.

Lenin's tomb and the wall of the Kremlin. If I so desire, I can wait until it's open, queue for hours, and view whatever it is that they've done with his body in there. I do not desire to do this.

This Pity Party is Over

As previously stated, I promised myself that I wouldn't bitch and moan too much until my first 30 days were over. Then, when I realized they were over, I had a totally cranky pants week full of bitching, moaning, and complaining. Also, I was menstruating, which didn't help. You're welcome.

Yesterday was probably my worst day here. I worked, and that was fine. I'm always fine when I'm teaching. It was after, when I realized I had nothing to do but go home and think about how far away from everything I live, how gross my apartment is, and how I haven't made many friends yet, that I had a full blown pity party. I napped three hours, ate chips and pizza, and watched terrible TV shows that I don't particularly enjoy. Yes, I'm talking about you, Big Bang Theory. I followed this up by sleeping in today, and then taking a nap shortly after waking up. All in all, it was a pretty pathetic 24 hours for me.

When I was younger, I used to throw temper tantrums. Serious temper tantrums. I have family members that still refer to me as "waaaah!" when they see me at weddings (Yes, "waaah!" is a real nickname that people have actually called me. No, I will not be using it as a future blog moniker). At some point I became an adult, and according to society it was no longer acceptable for me to throw tantrums. I had to learn a new way to vent.

In my early 20's, my coping method was to simply not cope at all, but to bottle everything up instead. I thought this was working out just great, until one of the greatest people I've ever met advised me otherwise. She said something that as true as it is face-slap-worthy: You have to let yourself feel your feelings. It's okay to be pissed off, frustrated, and be a bit negative from time to time. I'm not a terrible failure of a person for giving in to. The key is that after feeling negative, I move on rather than letting it own me.

Now, fast approaching 30, I neither deny problems which exist, nor do I throw temper tantrums. I wait until the appropriate time to feel like crap, allow myself the appropriate time to feel that way, and then move on. Depending on the magnitude of the issue, this is usually a 24 hour cycle. Thankfully, most of my issues are pretty trivial.

Today being a new day, negativity washed away, and all that, I've decided that I should try to get into Russian music. It will be good for my listening skills, and give me a conversation piece for when I finally make some Russian friends outside of work. Tomorrow, I'm planning on photo hunting decrepit looking buildings and absurd parking jobs; I will not have to leave my neighborhood for either of these things, but I will anyway.

Worry not, for it's all pretty much good.

It's Been a Rough Month. I Deserve to Look Like a Hooker.

I recently passed the 30 day mark, which means that I'm due for a real complaint session. Now, I've hinted here and there, without even a touch of subtlety, that a number of things here really blow, but I think I've kept the whining to a minimum. Pointing out something negative is not the same as bitching about it, after all. I'm due for a quality bitching session. Unfortunately, I seem to have lost my edge over the years and consider whining about things I can't change to be an exercise in futility. Instead, I have decided to cope by giving my wardrobe a more Russian flavor. That is to say, I look more and more like a street walker with each passing day.

Now, a lot is said about the expense of buying clothes in Moscow, and most of it is correct. It is expensive to buy clothes here, especially if you're too lazy to find sales. If you are like me, and shop according to the price tag, it's not necessarily so bad. For example, when I purchased a spring coat (black, of course), a blouse, and a t-shirt from H&M, it only cost about $75. This is reasonable, and probably slightly less than I would have paid at home for the same items. Of course, I made up for that by buying $200 street walker boots, which was absurd. There were $70 hooking boots that would have done just fine, but they sadly did not come in size gargantuan. Also, the salesperson in that store was a bitch, so fuck her and her tiny shoes.

Yes, keeping things honest, my first month here pretty much stunk. Often literally. On the bright side, not only might I now be confused with the real prostitutes roaming around here, but I am probably moving in a couple of weeks. Should this happen, I might be able to use the 3 hours a day I spend commuting on making friends. That would be neat.

Dear People of the Moscow Metro System,

Blowing gum bubbles into your significant other's mouth is not cute. No, this is not a special moment that you two ought to be sharing with other people. Blowing gum bubbles in to each other's mouths? This is not a thing that real people do. This is most certainly not a thing that real people want to see. I say this with not a hint of jealousy, only concern for the well being of everybody who may have the gross misfortune of catching sight of your amazingly unattractive stupidity. I can not stress enough how totally fucking repugnant you look. Stop it.

Kind regards,

Barbie

P.S. To the very thoughtful fellows that keep leaning over the arm rest into my face rather than taking one of the five empty seats beside me: For the love of all that is good, take a seat. There are five of them.

My Students Have Much More Money Than I Do - Part 1

One of the activities in my lesson today called on the students to imagine what they would do if they could own their own hotel. Where would they build it? How big would it be? What would they charge per room? Blah, blah blah. Now, I only had one student in this class, because nobody else bothered to show up. Nobody else ever bothers to show up, it seems. I decided that we were going to do this activity anyway, just the two of us, because it was a good chance for the student to get some fluency practice, in addition to reviewing use of the second conditional. Also, this was what I had planned. While I'm usually pretty keen on going off track, I'm trying to nip that habit in the bud, at least until I get used to the new curriculum. Regardless, the activity didn't go exactly as planned.

Me: If you could build a hotel, where would you put it?

Student: Well actually, my father owns some hotels. I don't like to live there though, because that gets very boring, very quick. Other people, maybe they live in hotels, but not me. I get an apartment. + [two minute monologue about the state of hotels in Moscow vs the rest of Europe, and how his father's hotels factor into all of this]

I blinked a couple of times before remembering that I should ignore that I don't live on the same plane of existence as this guy and ask some follow up questions.

Nice chat.

I'm Trying to Learn Russian. It's Going Slowly.

Before leaving for Russia, I read that the signs in the subway stations are all in Russian. Knowing that I would be seeing a lot of those, I made a point of learning the alphabet using this site. That helped.

I also learned the numbers 1-10, which later turned to be of little to no help at all when dealing with cashiers, because most things cost more than 30 cents. I probably should have learned higher numbers to go with the money here. Somehow, I completely overlooked that I would be using money here. I had no idea what a kopek was and tried to pass one off as a ruble my first week. If you're not familiar with Russian money, look that one up and you'll understand how unimpressed the cashier was.

I'm trying to up my game. Quickly. Numbers, common phrases, basic small talk: I'm trying to cram all of these things in my head within about a week, and it's not going as smoothly as I would like. For one thing, my accent is so terrible that nobody seems to understand half of the things that fly out of my mouth. For another, the classes that I thought I would get with my employer sort of exist, but sort of don't. At the moment, at least, they're not really happening. So, I'm on my own.

In the next week or two, I'm going to try to set up a couple of language exchanges through some sites that I know about. If the language exchanges work out and I come back from them alive, I'll mention the websites by name. When you're living abroad, the Internet is your friend. Until it isn't.

A View From the 18th Floor

Stunning, isn't it?

Not only do I get to commute an hour and a half to work, but I get to wake up every morning to a view of the concrete jungle. Obviously I'm ecstatic.

My Cell Phone Has a Vagina

My employer convinced me to purchase a phone after my first full day of work. After not having had regular cell service since I left Busan (my employer in Japan provided me with a cell phone, but I could only call certain coworkers on it, so it was essentially rubbish), it isn't likely that I would have gone to get one on my own. However, given that I live an hour and a half commute from where I work, it really is necessary. Yes, really. My employer really put me in a filth hole an hour and a half from where I'll be working. They care! Lots. I've been advised that retaining foreign teachers is one of their top priorities. I fail to see how that's ever been a problem. After all, they did take me to the cell phone store and everything. Very thoughtful, that.

The cellphone store looked more or less like cellphone stores everywhere else do, which is to say that my first question upon entering was "where are the cheap ones?" For future reference, this is my first question upon entering everything. After having this translated by my coworker and being directed to the cheap ones by the adorable Cell Phone Guy, I selected the cheapest phone in the store. This is exactly how I purchased my laptop, too.

I chose the brown version of the phone, because I like neutral colors. As he was getting the phone ready for purchase, Cell Phone Guy said a few things to my coworker. I asked her what was going on, because I hate when I'm not given the option to refuse to participate in a conversation, and she told me that he felt weird about selling me a brown phone. Cell Phone Guy apparently felt a bit sad at the idea that a lady would walk away with something so unpretty, and really wanted to sell me the pink one. Learning that Cell Phone Guy was saddened by my brown phone idea saddened me, so I agreed to purchase the pink one. I acted really excited about it, too. This wasn't ridiculous at all.

As the final exchange was going down, Cell Phone Guy and my coworker were leaving me out of the conversation again, and this time he kept looking back to me as he was saying whatever he was saying, so I politely interjected, yet again, that I wanted to know what was going on. My coworker looked amused and told me that he wanted to know where I was from, then wanted to know if I had any Canadian coins on me. Obviously I didn't, because why would I, but I promised I would come back in the next day and bring him some. Apparently he collects coins or some blah and didn't have any from Canada yet. Also, I was having a great hair day. That was totally the real reason. My coworker told him I'd be back in, and he said he was looking forward to seeing my luxurious hair in his shop again.

The next day I was not having such a great hair day, but I went in anyway. It's important to follow through on promises, especially ones that you make to 12 year olds. Or maybe 20 year olds. I just really want to stress that a lot of what I've been insinuating here is totally not okay. Regardless, I go in to the store when it's extremely busy, which was sort of assy. Cell Phone Guy is with some customers, but leaves them hanging to come over to the netbooks, which I'm busy pretending to play with. I pass him a few Canadian coins that I had dug up for him, throw around the two or three Russian words that I know, smile, then turn to leave.

Cell Phone Guy calls me back and walks me over to some display with cell phone charms and waves at them. I eventually deduce that he's telling me to pick one, though I'm not sure at this point if it's offering me one or trying to sell me something. There are about 15 people in the store who actually want to buy stuff, who he really should probably be helping, but we're in Moscow, so I guess that he probably won't get fired for this. I eventually chose a butterfly charm, largely because it was the only one that didn't have any hearts on it. Also, it reminds me a bit of a butterfly necklace that I borrowed from my mother long ago, never gave back, and eventually broke. Cell Phone Guy removed the charm from the rack, took off the tag, and handed it to me. I thanked him about 5 times, mostly because that was one of the only Russian words I knew that week, but also because I was very happy that I didn't have to pay for something I was only picking out just to be nice. Also, keeping things honest, I was a little bit moved by the gesture. People in Moscow can be nice, it's true.

I've since been trying to invent reasons to go back to the store, but have so far held off on being foolish. Except for backing into a display case on my way out of the store that day; that was a bit foolish.

Long story short, this is why I have the pinkest pink phone that has ever pinked, bejeweled with a butterfly. It's so girly that it ought to come with it's own vagina.

My Filthy Moscow Apartment

My apartment wasn't the infested-with-cockroach kind of dirty that I had seen in Korea, but a hasn't-been-cleaned-since-we-put-up-these-2009-calendars type of dirty that I hadn't even imagined before. It was a whole new kind of gross. The carpets hadn't been vacuumed, probably since sometime before I crunched my face. There was a dirty pot in the sink. There were dirty rags here and there. The toilet hadn't been cleaned. The floors were so filthy that a finger tip swiped over it would come up black. The pillow I was meant to use had been thrown in a corner long ago and had yellowed in to a barely usable mass of repulsion. The walls in each room are stained in various places, likely never having seen a rag since they were erected. All of the sinks were so covered in filth that it took some time scrubbing to prove they could still shine at all. It smelled like cat food that had been sitting out since the 1970's. I really could go on. And on. And on.

No, I wouldn't say that I'm thrilled with the accommodation provided by the school. This is probably the least thrilled I've ever been by any accommodation, anywhere, paid for or otherwise. Really, it was unfathomably bad.

It's gotten better over the past two weeks. That is to say, I have made an effort to improve things. On the bright side, there were lots of cleaning agents left behind with all of the other previous owner's garbage, so that was pretty exciting. After getting down on my hands and knees and scrubbing the kitchen floor twice, now my finger tip only turns grey when I swipe it across the tile. Also, there's a vacuum cleaner, which worked just swell after it exhausted some foul odors in response to being turned on for the first time in 20 years.

I'm not sure if it's because I had low expectations coming here, I've been teaching abroad for a while now and know the drill, or because I've decided that apathy is easier than anger, but I haven't once gotten upset about this whole thing. Maybe I just think it's hilarious that I invested all of my savings from Japan on this? It's probably that.

My New Favorite Place

This has nothing to do with teaching, traveling, or any of that other fun stuff I do when I'm not between jobs. This has to do with how I spend way too much time on the internet when I'm not teaching, traveling, or doing any of that other fun stuff that I do.

My new favorite place is this. Going forward, I will be stealing all of my ideas from the contributors to that site.

Russia Won't Invite Me to Their Party

I'm still sitting around Canada, trying to guess how long I have to budget my savings for. Russia haven't invited me in yet!

The Visa works something like this: I send the company I'm going to work for copies of things via email, they apply with government or whatever, immigration sends them an invitation some time later, the company mails me the invitation, I go to the consulate with the invitation, and the consulate finally gives me my fucking Visa. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I also have to prove that I don't have HIV. Thankfully I do not.

It seems less complicated than the Korean Visa was, if only because they don't require my weight and inseam, but is taking much longer. I'm not thrilled about this, because my plan to leave enough money in my bank account to pay my student loans for the rest of the year has officially been dashed, due to the extra 6 weeks that I wasn't planning on being unemployed. That said, if having too long of a vacation and being a little bit bored are the worst of my problems at this exact moment in time, then things could be a lot worse.

It's not the company's fault that this is taking so long, they tell me, it's just how their government likes to do things. One of these days, somebody in the office will wake up and find a $50 bill has been slipped on their desk with my file, and shit will finally get done. Probably next week.

(That's probably not how it really works).

Now, if the company had told me outright that it could take three months, I probably would have taken the job still but at least would have gotten a job here in the meantime. Instead, they were totally vague about the time line, which is awesome. To be fair, it's entirely possible that they didn't really know either. I have no reason to assume otherwise right now, other than I've hit that point at which I'm just bored enough to start making absolutely everything up

On the bright side, I've had time to learn some Russian! I can say two different hellos, one goodbye, count to 20, say thank you, ask "what is this?", "is this a...?", and answer with "It's a...."! I also know the words for book, pen, table, and chair. Also, the alphabet, except that I'm terrible with their vowels and some of their consonant clusters. In other words, I'm practically fluent now and will probably be teaching Russian within a month of my arrival. Because that's what they need in Russia: Russian teachers.

I'm very talented.

Denagging Nagoya

Nagging on Nagoya never really happened. Not so much because there was nothing worth complaining about there, but because with 9.5 hour days and an hour commute each way, I really couldn't be bothered to make the time. Oops. I may return one day, at which point I may have more time to reflect. More than likely, though, I'll be working 14 and a half hour days and only have time to complain about that.

From what little I can remember of my time outside the university walls, Nagoya was: cleaner than Busan, didn't smell terrible, had numerous potted plants sprucing up the place, and served absolutely delicious ramen. What it lacked in character and intrigue, it made up for in ... I've got nothing to end that sentence with. Nagoya lacked character and intrigue, is what I came to accept after about 5 minutes there. It wasn't a total loss, though. Potted plants and bikes are pretty nifty.

Thanks to my hard earned yen, I've been enjoying something like a vacation in Canada for the last month and a bit. I was supposed to be in Moscow right about now-ish, but the VISA process has not decided to complete itself just yet, so I remain in Canada for the time being. It was roughly -65 degrees outside today and I probably have frostbite on my lower legs, so I should be good and ready whenever it is that Moscow rolls around.

I chose Moscow as my next location for a couple of reasons, the primary one being that they were kind enough to acknowledge my application and (eventually) offer me a job. Having reached the point at which I have more than a couple of years experience teaching and a CELTA qualification, I have too much self respect to go back to the type of job I was working my first year in EFL, but not enough of anything else to seriously compete for a great job. I'm very charming and all, but, tragically, nobody seems to give much of a shit about that. Hence, 14 or so interviews later, I accepted a job to work in Moscow. I'm not even going to pretend that I mind the fact I will be getting paid in peanuts. I have a job. In Moscow. Every thing's coming up shiny for Barbie in 2011.

Once the Russians approve of my eagerness to work there and grant me with a VISA, as I expect they will sometime before 2014, I'll be making weekly posts again. Except this time I actually will, because Russia is new, shiny, and exciting. By the time I landed in Japan this past fall I was so burnt out from the traveling I'd done that year, that everything sort of lost it's lustre. Not this time. I'm pretty Moscow will be super shiny; I can already feel the glare.

My Japanese Language Skills Officially Trump My Korean Language Skills

The title probably isn't entirely true, but it's close. It will likely be true by the time I leave, if not as early as next week. I had my first Japanese class today. I find it easier to speak Japanese than Korean, but Korean is much easier to read. I'm not sure I will get around to learning to read Japanese before leaving in December; one of my students taught me to read Korean by the end of my first month there. I'm not sure if comparing my knowledge of Korean to Japanese is really fair, given that I never paid for formal lessons while in Korea. Two and a half years in Korea and not a single formal language lesson? I should probably be a little bit embarrassed about that, but I'm not. I had my reasons. Some of them better than others. 

For one thing, I'm pretty lazy. I'd much rather watch TV and eat chips than do just about anything. My best friends tend to be those that understand when I'm dropping references from the 27 TV shows that I watch (how about Terriers? Here's hoping that FX doesn't cancel my new favorite show). Additionally, I was busy spending my excess time and disposable income on other things. Mostly food. This is why I put on ten pounds in Korea. The primary reason that I didn't bother with Korean lessons was likely that I had absolutely no respect for Korean culture. I still don't. That's why I'm no longer there. While seeing friend after friend return to Busan makes it ever so tempting to follow along, I could never actually do it. I don't hate myself.

I didn't find Korea to be an easy place to be. Frankly, it's the least inspiring place I've ever been - a statement which will hold much more weight a few years from now. In Nagoya, I can exist without breaking much of a sweat. I work much longer hours, the pay is only marginally better, and nearly everything is more expensive, but all of that is worth it for being able to walk out the door in the morning and not have my mere existence be a spectacle. Knowing that I can use my elementary Japanese at the local bakery and not be laughed out of the shop is a pretty good motivator.

I Liked the Bikes.

My first day in Nagoya, after my very first walk down the street, I liked the bikes. I liked that there were 50 000 bikes everywhere. Loved it. I took roughly two dozen photos of bikes. Parked bikes. Moving bikes. Broken bikes. Signs about bikes. Mostly just the parked bikes; it turns out that photographing people riding bikes is weird and not entirely appreciated. 

Now, a month in, I realize that consequence of there being bikes parked absolutely everywhere is that at any given moment there is a bike ready to cross my path and get in my fucking way. It turns out that I don't like the bikes at all, I merely like the idea of the bikes.  Bikes in Japan have become to me what scooters in Korea were, except much slower and far less likely to viciously run me over. In short, I'm over bikes. Even the ones that look like they popped over for a visit from 1970, complete with chipped lime green paint, a gigantic basket and bell.

In spite of being totally over the bikes, I'd kind of like my own bike. I'd like a bike with chipped lime green paint, a massive white basket, and the loudest bell in the neighborhood. Were I not contractually forbidden from riding a bike to work (yes, really), I could be worst cyclist Nagoya had ever seen! Shaking my fist at other cyclists, ringing my obnoxiously loud bell at unsuspecting pedestrians for no good reason at all, cutting people off left and right, I could even get a special jacket just for cycling! 

Having written all that, I now see that it's just as well that my contract bars me from being that big of a tool.

My Flusher Swings Both Ways

As I discovered a couple of days ago, there are two ways to flush my toilet. I probably should have realized this immediately.

I am not terribly observant. Apparently.

I had been running on the assumption that my toilet flusher was absolute crap, due to the fact that I was using the lesser of two available functions. As it turns out, my toilet flusher was just too advanced for me. 

I'm all caught up now.

Organized to the point of redundancy.

In the past week I have received approximately 100 pieces of paper, all of which could have been covered in a 4 page pamphlet. I could find that annoying, but currently find it rather charming. Mind you, I spent Friday color coding a filing system for my student's information profiles, so I would enjoy that.

I've been in Nagoya in a week. Were this Korea, I probably would have somehow managed 5 days of work into that. This not being Korea, I've really only been at work for 3, each of those spent on orientation, training, and class planning. The remaining days have been spent walking the neighborhood, buying basic household items at the 100 yen shop down the road, and comparing absolutely everything to how I knew it in Korea. I'm hoping to shake that by early next year, seeing as I'm pretty sure the world now tunes me out when I start sentences with "in Korea..".

After the crunch of Seomyeon, my new neighborhood seems fairly quaint. I hear crickets at night. Or maybe frogs or something, I don't know. I hear signs that there is some else living around here, at least. To be frank, I feel like I'm living in the sticks. I like it. I like it even more when I remember there is a subway station down the road.

In short, I really have nothing to bitch about at the moment.  Everything has been good, in a tolerably blah sort of way. I wouldn't mind finding a pocket of people that like the ridiculous stuff I do, but that will probably be a little difficult here. I don't get the impression that a whole lot goes on here. Or maybe I just haven't figured out where goings on are just yet. Probably that.

My neighborhood. Happening. Not my house.

Nagging in Nagoya

After a mostly forgettable summer, in just one week I will be back to doing what I do best: being ignorant about unfamiliar cultures. I meant to keep this blog active during my Canadian summer, but then my 50 hour a week soul crushing desk job dampened my spirits and I very temporarily stopped making time for those things which I enjoy the most. Well, Very Temporarily has officially ended and I'm back to being me, or some version of that.

My summer wasn't totally wasted, as I did get to spend some much appreciated time with my family, in addition to funding my startup costs in Japan. Deciding to return to Canada and take a break from traveling after my month of CELTA craziness in Budapest was a wise choice. It's just a pity that I didn't realize this before funding that burntout week in Spain, right after CELTA wrapped up. Oh, floor of Sam's apartment in Toledo - we've seen better days, you and I.

This post is actually a day early, but I figure I've earned the right to be prematurely celebratory. In about 12 hours I go in to wrap up my last shift at the worst job I've ever had the displeasure of working. Then, as of next weekend, I'll be nagging from Nagoya. And shitting on Korea in the process, I'm sure.

That Bizarre Transition Phase That I Call Home

I'm between teaching jobs at the moment; that's the optimistic way of putting it, anyway. Since, after more than two years teaching and a CELTA certificate, I feel entitled to not have to take the first crappy ESL job that ends up in my lap, I'm still looking. I hope to be gone again by the fall, but until then I'm spending time with family, reuniting with old friends, and filling a slightly-less-than-awesome entry level position at Some Company.

It's mostly fantastic here, especially when I disregard the overwhelming urge to declare that absolutely nothing of note ever seems to happen. One week melts into another, with nothing of note to distinguish one from the next. Yet, they're all kind of great, so somehow that's okay. It's an adjustment, after the severe ups and downs of Life Abroad, but not in any way an unwelcome one.

Being consistently content, but neither ecstatic nor positively pissy, means that I haven't had much in the way of current events that I felt the need to rehash. What I do have are stories from Korea that never quite made it up here and 5 weeks in Europe worth of tales and stories to spit out. So, let's do that instead.