Dostojevski, On arrival training and Little Idiot

15211791_1253025761429905_2141521981_nI really can not function without proper sleep. So now I am sitting in an empty hotel corridor, while everyone else is sleeping. The time difference from Krasnoyarsk is -4.

Our On-Arrival training took place in Rostov Velikiy. Magnificent and peaceful place. Kremlin and its grandiose onion – shaped bell towers. Windy Nero Lake and old man with a walking stick yelling at passers-by.

I think I have to blame Dostoyevski. Before arriving to seminar, I lent a book to read on the plane and train. I lent Dostojevski. On the plane it was more or less okay to read him, while Jevgeni the Business man was snoring next to me, sweet old sweet saliva tripping. I was reading White Nights. I realized Dostojevski was friendzoned and gay friend for Nastja. I could never wait like a little puppy to dish -as the English say – a girl I like to another man. I think plane was late so I could really absorb the moral: stay away from friendzone, look what happened with Fjodor.

Then I started reading Honest Idiot, while taking aeroexpress to Moscow. Now Dostojevski was writing about drunks, them dying, suicide, thinking of suicide, then thinking of about dying. Me as a sensible person + Dostojevski + crazy traffic + loads of Mosowites = anxiety. Now add to that yelling Gypsy lady with 3 phones talking at the same time in some sweaty kebab shop or Fidgety Grigory on the train and you can get a panic attack.

Grigory could not sit not a second on one spot. One time he was cursing, second time trying to call using some kopnik* dirty words, then eating packet of cookies within 30 seconds, then trying to lay down, then standing up, then calling, then cursing. He was fidgeting opposite of me. Next to me was sitting Svjatova Maria, who read some Russian love novel. Next to her Kind – hearted farmer Andrei, who ate kolbaca. And then me with Dostovjeski.

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When I stepped off from the train I felt relaxed. Rostov was quiet, relaxed and in the middle of nowhere. I liked it. I also liked other EVS volunteers. There were many Germans, Slovakians, Fin, French, Italian, Croatians, Polish girl and 2 Estonians. We inspired each other with our projects, worked on our dreams and discussed our issues and aspirations. I was really admiring the EVS of Finnish girl and Croatian people who were working with disabled children. It needs a lot of energy I knew it from my experience. Not sure I could do it as a volunteer. Especially if you have to change diapers and clean shit every day. I really liked the other Estonians project, who was a football coach and fitness trainer for local youth.

NOW HERE I WANT TO SAY THANK YOU TO INTERRA AND KRASNOYARSK, MY MENTOR AND ALL SIBERIAN PEOPLE! I AM SOOOOO LUCKY AND BLESSED! Me and many of volunteers have nice appartments, great colleagues and no issues with racism. It was a shock for me to hear about French and Polish girl, who got to their destination Khabarovsk, realized they have no hosting organization, no accommodation. Furthermore, the coordinating person who had asked some rent money, was gone to some other city and never returned. Then there were Slovakian girls, who got verbally attacked regularly Kirov for speaking different language. They were also laughed at as they were monkeys, when giving English lesson. I felt sorry for them. They also told about one Italian guy, whose EVS consisted of such activities: being a driver for 1 day and 6 days next to that drinking and chasing women. I felt inspired.

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Next to reflection and project planning we had great culture program. We had excursion in Kremlin. My favourite part was to visit funny whistle handicraft market. A lot of weird and cute creatures made as whistles. It was a local thing. The legend goes that in the past times young couples used to develop their own distinqitive whistles to recognize themselves from otherside of lake. So romantic I thought and bought 5. I also enjoyed jewellery painting workshop. Some volunteers and trainers managed to do pure art. I did clumsy Cheburashka with kind heart.

In our free time, I used to speak with my Italian roommate and understand that sometimes Russian women are cold and we could never understand them. We would analyze Russian women for hours in our room and even with that time we could not figure them out. Why we always have to iniate contact, we poor, souls?

One night I was walking with local lady, suddenly approached by some small teenagers. One of them giving me hand immediately.

Privet, I am Andrei

I was thinking WTF. How he knows me?

But then he apologized to my company. Suddenly my company starts to scream at him.


“YOU LITTLE IDIOT WHY
YOU DID NOT BRING ME WOOD TODAY!”


I AM SORRY, I WAS BUSY!

DON´T LIE, IDIOT, I WILL TELL YOUR MOTHER!”

NO!”

LEAVE US ALONE, CAN´T YOU SEE I´M WALKING WITH COMPANY”

And off they went. My company acted like nothing was wrong. I really could not understand Russian women.

*

Now I am taking a train from Rostov to Moscow. I am in the sitting section of the train. There is no Dostojevski and no Fidgety Igor. I see snowy fields and cute villages passing by. Sun makes the future brighter, while chimneys connect smoke with Gods. I reflect on the training.

I loved some of the workshops. As many of us were freestyling or improvising our EVS, the training gave us some direction on guidance. Very interesting were seminars on Cigna and our rights and responsibilities. I felt that we annoyed teachers a lot and to be honest some questions were so stupid even to myself.. Here I would like to thank the teachers for patience and energy.

When it comes to culture, I loved the talks about Caucasus region and seminar, where volunteers, who taught languages shared tips, ideas and practices. I was too sensitive to listen Dutch´ girls talk on female mutilation. ( I am sorry Eva)

Of course I will miss Rostov. Miss the stories of Russian crazy night, where one volunteer got black eye and other kissed a 40-year-old married woman. Of course I will miss my Rostov woman, and her smell, feminity. Even getting stuck in her garden, almost breaking the door. Or the view from the hotel window, when the many Onion-towers greet you with their silent whispers: come check me out, I am full of history and grace. I remember how my Italian roommate inspired me with the stories of Kazan. As far as the pictures go, it seemed the most beautiful city in Russia. I miss the crazy Dedushka from the street, screaming at every house that grandfather is home and begginng for lekartsvo. Or the windy Nero lake with open, breath-taking view.

Til the Mid-term trainings!

Dostojevski, EVS On-arrival training ja Väike Idioot

Istun hetkel hotelli koridoris varahommikul ja toksin usinalt tähti. Teised vabatahtlikud magavad. Ilmselt on asi ajavahes. Krasnojarski aeg näitab -4 h.

Meie aga oleme Rostovis. Rostov Velikis mitte Rostov-na-Donus. Linn asub Moskva lähistel Kuldse-ringi sees. Ringi kuuluvad ka teised kaunid linnad. Rostov ja tema kaunis Kreml. Mitmed kirikud ja nende läikivad sibulad. Nero järve poolt puhub tuult, kuhu julged kalamehed samme seavad.

Võibolla on minu unetuses süüdi Dostojevski. Laenutasin kohalikust raamatukogust ta lühijutud ja hakkasin lennukis lugema. Samal ajal norskas kõrval suure kõhuga Äri-Andrei, kelle ila vaikselt mööda põski alla tilkus. Mina aga lugesin “ Valgeid öid” ja sain aru, kuidas Dostojevski ennast ise friendzone-i viis. Nastja kurtis terve lühiloo oma armastusest peategelasele( ehk Dostojevskile, sest enamik ta lühijutte on autobiograafilised), kes igati nõus gei-sõber olema oli. Tundsin Fjodorile kaasa ning vandusin, et pole ise kunagi nagu Dostojevski.

Siis tuli juba pöörane ja kiire tempoga Moskva. Olin seal küll kõigest 2h aga tundsin, et jälestan seda linna. Kerjused, purjus Ivanid magamas metroos, juustu- ja sitahais igalpool. Sõge mustlasvanamutt röökimas nelja telefoni võõras keeles. Ise palus enne viisakalt luba, kas võib minu vastas kebabiputkas istuda. Lubasin ja nautisin röökimist.

Istusin Moskvast rongile. Koht oli platzkardil. 50 inimest ühes vagunis. Erinevad lood ja tegelased, karakterid. Meie kõrval rääkis üks ungarlanna terve reisi oma armastusest Itaalia vastu Minu konkus istus aga Rahu- Armastav Juri, kes vaikis ja vorsti ainult näris. Siis oli seal närviline Igor, kes koguaeg tõmbles, ohkas, ropendas, lamas, ohkas, ropendas ja närviliselt küpsiseid näris ja pidevalt mingitele pättidele helistas. Kolmas tegelane oli prillidega Püha-Maria, kes koguaeg punastas ja armastusromaani luges. Ja siis mina + Dostojevski! Keegi meist ei rääkinud ja õhus oli vastik pinge. Mina lugesin “ Ausat varast”, mis rääkis ainult surmast, vaesust, surmast mõtlemisest, enesetapust, näljast. Lisa sellele veel närviline Igor ja sa saadki endale ärevushäire. Vandusin endale, et Transsiberianit ma ette ei võta.

Küll oli hea lõpuks peerusest ja kalahaisusest vagunist välja saada. Enne välikemmergust läbi ja suund Rostovi kesklinna poole. Suunanäitajaks mitmed sibultornid. Kuradi kaunis oli Rostov. Lõpuks kohtusin teiste vabatahtlikega. Neid oli Soomest, Saksamaalt, üks poiss veel Eestist, Horvaatiast, Slovakkiast, Poolast ja Prantsusmaalt. Imestasin, et mõned vabatahtlikud rääkisid puhtalt vene keelt.

Seminarid kestsid viis päeva. Selle aja jooksul saime selgeks oma õigused ja kohustused, projektide läbiviimise, õppisime vene kultuuri kohta. Mulle meeldis, et meile räägiti ka meie kindlustusest. Jagasime oma kogemusi ja siinkohal olen väga tänulik oma organisatsioonile, Siberi perele ja kolleegidele. Mul on tõesti vedanud. Kahel vabatahtlikel polnud kodu leitud ja vale-koordinaator oli nende rahaga ära kadunud. Slovakia tüdrukuid oldi Kirovi tänavatel rünnatud, sest nad olid võõras keeles rääkinud. Samuti naerdi ülikoolis paar korda nende üle nagu nad oleksid ahvid. MUL ON VEDANUD! AITÄH SIBER!

Teised vabatahtlikud käisid õhtul veel baaris. Sellest kujunes välja tõeline vene õhtu. Kaks vabatahtliku leidsid üksteist, üks poiss leidis kohaliku 50-aastase abielunaise ja kirsiks tordil: üks poiss sai sinise silma. Ma ei tea, millise punkti juurde see õhtu läks: kas kultuuridevaheline dialoog või riskikäitumine?

Põnev oli ka teiste vabatahtlike kogemusest kuulata. Need vabatahtlikud, kes tegelesid keeletundidega jagasid nippe ja praktikaid. Õppisin palju. Palju respekti soome ja Horvaatia vabatahtlikele, kes puuetega lastega tegelesid. Pikad tunnid, töötajate poolne ärakasutamine, laste mähkmed ja sanitaride kadumine – jube töö. Enamvähem sain tööst aru, sest olin ka ise puuetega inimestega tegelenud.Slovakkia neiu rääkis aga ühest itaalia vabatahlikkust, kes korra nädalas autoga sõitis ja muidu ainult jõi ja naisi taga ajas. Inspireeriv eks?

Kultuuriprogramm oli meil mõnus. Meile tehti ekskursioon Kremlis. Kui kaunid olid need sibultornid ja huvitav näitus. Veel viidi meid vile-tehasesse, kus erinevad öökullid, konnad, ahvipoisid ja teised olendid meid vaatasid. Rostovi legendi järgi tegid noorpaarid ammustel aegadel endale vile, mille järgi üksteist ära tunda. Vahel jäi noorpaaride vahele Nero järv. Vile järgi oli hea armastust ära tunda. Nüüdisajal olid aga tädikesed teinud sinna viletehase. Kui kaunid ja armsad need viled olid. Tundsin, et lisaks Matroshka ja Potsataja maaniale, tekkis mul vile maania. Ostsin kohe 5.

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Pärast seda läksime käsitöö töötuppa. Tegime kaelaehteid. Mõned seminaride läbiviijad ja vabatahtlikud tegid puhast kunsti. Nii täpsed ja kaunid pintslitõmbed! Mina aga tegin kohmaka, aga hea südamega Potsataja.

Ruumi jagasin itaalia vabatahtlikuga. Tema inspireeris mind Kazani minema. Pidi olema kauneim linn Venemaal. Nüüd nõustun. Paar ööd jaurasime kahekesi teemal, et miks vene naised on külmad ja miks nad kunagi ühendust ei võta. Miks ainult meie pidime vaeva nägema – nurisesime nagu väiksed emo-lapsed.

Ühel õhtul jalutasin kohaliku naisterahvaga. Mulle meeldis venelannade komme käe vangus käia. Nii naiselik!

Järsku läheb meile noortepunt, vanuses 17-18. Üks Kõõrik viskab julgelt käe välja ja lausub:

Tere, ma olen Andrei!”

Alguses ma ei saanud midagi aru. Siis vabandas Andrei mu kaaslase ees. See muidu soe ja naiselik naine kukkus aga röökima!

MIKS SA VÄIKE IDIOOT MULLE PUID EI TOONUD!”

ANNA ANDEKS, MUL POLNUD AEGA!”

ÄRA VALETA, VÄIKE IDIOOT! MA RÄÄGIN SU EMALE ÄRA!”

EI!”

JÄTA MEID RAHULE, VÄIKE IDIOOT! KAS SA EI NÄE, ET MA JALUTAN KAASLASEGA!”

Niimoodi ajaski mu kaaslane teismelised ära. Röökiv naine muutus jälle armsaks, õrnaks kassnaiseks. Ma tõesti ei mõistnud vene naisi.

*

Tagasitulek Rostovist oli hoopis mõnusam. Sain koha istumisvagunis.. Kuulasin Technimaticut ja vaatasin, kuidas armsad külad ja lumised väljad möödusid.Mõtlesin Rostovile ja jäin igatsema Sibula kupleid, tuulist Nero järve, kohaliku neiu lõhna ja suudluseid ja vabatahtlike meenutusi sellest, kuidas nende õhtu läks. Sinised silmad ja abielunaised.

Written and Pictures by Krismar Rosin

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