meeting the host family

This is what you all have been waiting for! –or maybe I’m just projecting my own feelings. After a weekend in the dorm, as nice as it might have been to live in a quad with three other girls on the program, I was so ready to meet my host family.

Apparently, they were ready to meet me, too. Natasha and Andrei, the older couple I’m staying with, came to pick me up in the dorm. Although they live within walking distance, they drove their car to get me and my things. Our first encounter was somewhat awkward, as an introduction is wont to be when one party is so ridiculously nervous-excited she can barely speak English, let alone Russian… especially when <2 minutes after meeting, those three people + 75lbs of luggage squeeze into an elevator roughly the size of a shoebox. Okay, fine, it was actually about the size of my refrigerator. That is not an exaggeration; it was about 2x2’. Again, aawwwwkward.

But things have been warming up steadily since then. We got to the apartment, and Nastya, the 10-year-old, met us at the door. She was wearing pink striped pajama pants and an Angry Birds t-shirt. Then the three of them showed me the house. I have my own room, one wall of which is covered by a giant, English-language map of the world. I showed them where my family lives, and then the scary thing happened: they asked a question I understood but couldn’t answer. “Does your city have any sports teams? Basketball, hockey, soccer…?” Andrei asked. He’s had sports on for the past 8 hours; I think he likes them. I was abashed to note that, while my mother taught gym coached basketball for several years, I couldn’t even say whether or not we have any of those teams. All I know is that we root for the Browns in football even though they stink. (Have I ever watched a Browns game? no.)

Nastya took me to her play area next. I was a little surprised, I guess, by her… I’ve worked a lot with 9-and 10-year-olds, and I feel like by that age most of them are jaded and “sophisticated.” If they still play with toys, they certainly don’t tell their friends, and they dress more like teenagers than children. Since Russian women all seem to have the sophistication thing down pat, walking around in their ridiculous-high heels, super-skinny jeans, and total-fur coats, I figured that Russian children would make this transition even earlier. Not so. Nastya is more comfortably a child than most American preschoolers I’ve met (and I’ve met many). It’s great. She wants to be an interior designer (which is what I wanted to be when I was her age, actually), and has created elaborate living spaces for her dolls and stuffed animals out of cardboard and paper. She spends most of her time playing with these dolls and set-ups, all the while singing some unintelligible Russian songs quite loudly and off-key (which is, I suppose, what happens when you give a 10-year-old headphones).

Nastya and Natasha took me out on several trips in the afternoon, showing me the city. There’s a sort of outdoor museum set up right now, to commemorate the fall of the blockade. Tomorrow is the 70^th anniversary, and there’s going to be a parade! Unfortunately, that parade falls in the middle of our 2-hour placement test. That’s very sad for me; I have been looking forward to the parade since a friend at school alerted me to it. Anyway. The tour. Mostly Nastya just jabbered a mile a minute with random trivia and thoughts. Really the only time I ever understood her was when she was responding to one of my questions or pantomiming. So maybe 10%. She talked a lot. When there was something important to know, Natasha would step in and explain it to me. She is very good at speaking simply and clearly. I’d say I understood close to 80% of what she said, which I think is good.

All in all, I’m quite happy. But tired. As I write this, I have been with the family for 8 hours. 8 hours of Russian takes its toll. Ready for the rest of the semester? Oh sure.