In the spirit of cultural exchange, last week I exchanged my beloved Belgorod State University for its affiliate branch in the smaller city of Alekseevka.  The university there is very new and comfortably houses its few thousand students, twenty of who specialize in English language.  Though their language level is a bit lower than what I’ve become accustomed to at BSU’s main campus, their excitement and unbounded enthusiasm was refreshing, and so I’ll write about it.

My driver, Anatoli Mikhailovich, his grey car with plate number C323OB, and I were to meet at 8:30 on Monday morning by the fountain in front of the university.  I awoke early to pack and double check that I had, in fact, finished my presentations on education and American health care, and then trooped off into the early morning frost.  There was no grey car by the fountain, but I didn’t mind sitting on a bench and watching all the students as they filed into the university for their first period classes.  By the time the last stragglers were making their dreary way to the double doors, I was beginning to worry about Anatoli Mikhailovich.  Maybe he had driven off the road in the early morning gloom, or maybe he had already come and gone, thinking that I had stood him up.  I huddled into my coat against the cold, and decided to keep waiting it out.

After making awkwardly long eye contact with several young men who I thought might be Anatoli Mikhailovich but were not, I suddenly remembered that I had been told to meet not at 8:30, but at 9:30.  At this point, it was almost 9:00.  I was stuck with that awkward amount of time with which you can’t really do anything, but you also can’t not do anything.  I thought of going inside to get some tea, but tiredness and indifference weighted my legs to the bench.  I eventually decided to review my lecture plans and then waste the rest of the time by translating American pop songs into Russian.  Sometimes they don’t even sound that different.

Anatoli Mikhailovich finally arrived, and after a quick introduction proceeded to berate me for spending so much time inactive and in the cold.  To avoid further chastisement, I slept the entire way to Alekseevka. 

Upon arrival Olga and Tanya, two young professors who are two of the nicest people I have met in my life, greeted us.  We chatted for a while about where I’m from and their dreams for someday traveling to America while we waited for Natasha, the head of the department.  When she arrived, I was swept away to the single hotel in the city, which recently underwent some serious renovation, making it exponentially more comfortable, modern, and opulent than any apartment in Belgorod.  We fiddled with the television for a few minutes before rushing back to lunch at the university and then a student-organized Thanksgiving extravaganza, again complete with stories, songs, presentations, and games. 

Some highlights include a game in which teams had to put cards describing how to cook a turkey in the correct order.  The boys’ team said that it would be best to start by basting and salting the turkey, and end with rinsing it off.  They later told me that this was not a breakdown in language – they simply had no idea as to how to cook a bird.  My other favorite part was a video of Obama’s Thanksgiving Day Presidential Turkey Pardon.  I did not know about this tradition, but now all of the Russians in Alekseevka know that every year, the President of the United States takes some time out of his busy day to save a turkey.  Obama said of the momentous occasion, “You know, there are some days when I remember why I ran for this office in the first place.  And then there are days like today, when I pardon a turkey.”

After the presentation, we sat down for a two-hour tea party in which we discussed my family and hometown, the American educational system, and how often Americans use the past perfect continuous.  You know, just the easy stuff.  They were tickled by my vegetarianism, delighted to hear about my ninety-two-year-old grandmother’s rants against America’s former president, and depressed to learn that we do, in fact, use all twelve tenses in every day speech.  We talked until the sun went down – it was only 6! – and then I was again whisked to my hotel for a quick rest before a walking tour of the city and a delicious dinner with the other teachers.

It’s strange to find yourself in a situation where you feel your age betrays you.  I’m only twenty-two, and I still count myself very young and rather inexperienced when I compare myself to the other teachers, who have families, steady jobs, and real ‘grown up’ lives.   In fact, I often feel closer to the students than I do to the other teachers.  Maybe this is because to most Russians, I look like I’m seventeen.  However, in terms of language and American cultural knowledge, I am far more advanced than students and teachers alike.  I sometimes feel like I’m fighting against my appearance to make people take me seriously and trust that I really do know what I’m talking about.  Luckily for me, these teachers were just as excited as their students to meet an American, and we spent dinner in pleasant and happy conversation.

The next day I got down to business.  I spoke to the higher-level students in depth about the American system of education, which vastly differs from its Russian counterpart.  The students (and teachers!) were eager to discuss these differences and acknowledge the strength and weaknesses of each.  I could go on forever about this, but I’ll save it for later – I really just need to finish this post!  The second class period was for the middle level students, and our topic was health care and medicine.  It was very clear that these students were terrified to speak to me, so we spent most of the class listening to me retell my “I survived a kidney infection in Russia!” story.  This is possibly the best teaching tool I have in my arsenal: it is completely on topic and filled with authentic phrases and vocabulary; it happened in Russia, so the students have a chance to see their own culture through the eyes of a foreigner; and it actually happened to me!  After the story we learned the “Hokey-Pokey,” “Head Shoulders Knees and Toes!” and played Simon says to review some body vocabulary.  By the end of the lesson, the students were asking questions and telling me about their own childhood illnesses. 

I was very sorry when Natasha told me that the driver was waiting to take me back to Belgorod.  After many hugs and assurances that I would return at the very beginning of next term, I bundled myself into the van and slept the whole way back to the White City.