Bye bye 2014, hello 2015
‘A writer can spin on about his adventures after 30, after 40, after 50, but the criteria by which those adventures are weighed and valued are irrevocably settled at the age of 25.’
(F Scott
Fitzgerald)
Dear
friends,
As another
year draws to a close, it’s time for me to sit back, reflect, mull things
over…and then trot out the same old trite excuses and tired apologies and beg
for your forgiveness. How many times have I said on these pages that I want to churn
out snappier, shorter, more frequent pieces, but then never do? Forget it. I
won’t break any more promises – I promise – but I also won’t make any more
promises – I promise.
I’ve said
this a few times, but it’s worth repeating: one of my original intentions in
starting this back in early 2009 was as a substitute for email, a way of
keeping friends in the loop. It quickly degenerated into epic, waffling
pseudo-philosophical musings and tales of sordid shenanigans and other episodic
misdeeds. Or maybe those were the good old days: gone are the shenanigans (no
more ‘cocking my leg athwart’ various voluptuous vixens, to quote the immortal
Harry Flashman) and these days life has settled itself into a fairly
predictable routine. Not that I’m necessarily complaining. I think poor old
Pedzo’s frail physical constitution can barely withstand the rigours of the
modern world’s expectations of the adventurous, unhindered single man. I
couldn’t keep up with such a frenetic lifestyle forever now, could I? While
things remain both frenetic and hectic in many respects, life has taken on a
different, quite dramatic turn.
As I’m
wont to do on far too many occasions, I’m rambling. Onto business. I’m
considering this as one of those end-of-year holiday circulars that families
send out in Christmas cards. People still do that, don’t they? My old man does
anyway, replete with errors about me (‘…and Darnell continues to toil away in
the salt mines of Kyrgyzstan whilst working undercover for the CIA…’) while
going into excessive detail of his DIY doings. These things are meant to be concise
– short and snappy even – but when have I ever been concise? I’m not about to
start now. I can promise you that.
2014: A
year in review
First,
there’s a precedent here. I’ve done a few of these yearly reviews, and for
anyone who wants a trip down memory lane or to see some of my more interesting
ditties, have a look at these links:
A tough year
for Ukraine
I hardly
need say much on this point. Any whingeing and moaning I do from this point on
must be taken with a robust pinch of salt. While regular readers will recall
that there are few phrases I loathe more than ‘it really puts things in perspective’,
I can truly say that this year has really…placed stuff in a new light. No
matter what, all else pales in comparison to the trials and tribulations and
the anguish that has occurred in Ukraine this year. It has been a tough, tough
year for so many people in so many ways. Everyone has been affected
differently, and mentally it has been exhausting. We can all only hope that
2015 leads to better things for Ukraine and its people. I won’t delve into any
nuanced political analysis or deeper insight other than to say what I’ve just
said.
A
personally tough year
Poor old Pedzo’s arm and neck are in a dire state still. You see, I can hardly resist, can I? But I mention this for two reasons: one, I like wallowing in self-pity and I’m looking for sympathy. And two, it explains the primary reason why I’ve let this blog slide and also neglected way too many friends on email. After writing this, I’ll promptly proceed to inject my neck full of 2000mg of liquid ibuprofen to get me through the next few days. My shoulder is already burning.
A
financially tough year
Well, the
currency’s down over 50%. What more can I say here?
I work a
lot
This is an exciting topic. Let me make the same joke that I’ve already made to a few friends on email: these days, I’m doing 50% more work for 50% less pay (though when I made the joke originally a few months ago the figures were 40%). Can’t do much about the pay front, but on the work front, the second half of this not-very-funny joke went like this:
Choose the
correct option:
I work as
a(n)…
A.
investment banker
B.
management consultant
C. hedge
fund trader
D. English
teacher
Badoom-ch…
Unfinished
business
My memory
is so shaky and I tend to be so scatter-brained in general these days, that I
wasn’t even sure whether I had finished everything I had started during some
summer ramblings. But no, the big summer writing ‘highlight’ was the World Cup
Culinary Challenge, and I think that came to a close.
Summer
travels
Funfare
and its predecessor The Layman’s Guide were mainly travelogues, replete with
sordid machinations and various hijinks. Travel these days has taken on a
different tone: it’s either a visit home to see the parents, a quiet week in
the Carpathians or something [slightly] more adventurous abroad with Olya. We
spent just over two weeks in Georgia in July. An ever-so-brief (ish) recap:
1. Don’t
go to Georgia in July. It’s too hot and humid.
2. Places
do change, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better, but I also
realise that people change too. You thought I was a cantankerous old curmudgeon
5-6 years ago? It’s got even worse now.
I first
visited Georgia in June 2008 and had a splendid time. Everything was
incredible, the people were wonderful and I had no complaints whatsoever. The
food was good, except that I got food poisoning right at the end of my trip in
Tbilisi, and my trip onwards to Armenia was spoilt a bit by the fact that I
couldn’t eat very much.
This time?
Quite different. The hospitality was close to non-existent, customer service
was beyond appalling, people seemed genuinely put out when we entered their
museums and had the audacity to ask for tickets and on more than one occasion, crafty
people attempted to rip us off.
But one
thing didn’t change: I got food poisoning. Again. And at the end of our trip in
Tbilisi.
3. For the
first time in a while, I took copious notes in my journal. It’s been a while
since I jotted down more than just logistics (prices, transport options, a
brief bullet point list of what we did) and instead reflected a bit more
deeply. Some sporadic, arbitrary thoughts now follow.
4. Everyone,
and I mean everyone, claims that the worst drivers are in [fill in whatever country you’re from]. Especially irritating are
when people from a certain country claim their drivers are the worst…when
they’ve never travelled outside their country. Yes, this is massive pet hate of
mine.
But I
think Georgians are the worst. They’re downright maniacal – with a fondness for
drink driving as well – with no regard for pedestrians or animals. On a packed
marshrutka up to Svaneti, with its stunning vistas and frightening hairpin
bends in the mountains our driver whacked a poor bull, sending him dazed and
staggering away. The driver, of course, was concerned about the state of his
vehicle, but I was far more concerned over the poor bull. Poor bull.
A morbid
bit of dark humour: while Olya and I fretted over our possible demise at the
hands of one of these drivers, our mangled bodies possibly plunging over the cliff,
she said that at least my parents had another sibling to console them, whereas
her poor old father would never recover from the loss of his only daughter. I’m
not sure whether that made me feel better or worse.
5. As so
often happens on these trips, the best meal we had – by far – was super spicy
kharcho (tomatoey, meat stew) in a grimy little bus station at 8am, surrounded
by unsavoury characters and fairly dirty cutlery. Despite being ‘…a soup in
which pieces of undisguised and unabashed gristle floated in a mud-coloured
sauce whose texture and temperature were powerfully reminiscent of mucus’ (John
Lanchester, A Debt to Pleasure), it was cheap and unexpected and absolutely
delicious.
6.
Automatic 10% service charges added to the bill are a deterrent to good
customer service.
7. I have
to be fair: we had plenty of encounters with nice, hospitable, genuine people.
But those tales aren’t as amusing and memorable.
8. Georgia
is second only to Papua New Guinea in terms of language diversity. I did not
know that. I got this – and much else besides – from my choice of reading
material for the trip: Thomas de Waal’s The Caucasus: An Introduction (so-so)
and Tony Anderson’s Bread and Ashes: A Walk Through the Mountains of Georgia
(brilliant). Some of the names of languages and ethnic groups and their
backgrounds are utterly fascinating whilst unbelievably confusing. My head was
often spinning from the names. If you’ve read anything about Georgia and its
history, language and culture, you’ll know exactly what I mean.
9. The best
funny menu translation: crap in foil. Second: entrails with adipose grid
tissues.
10. We had
a taxi driver who took us on a tour to Davit Gareja, a monastery complex carved
into the hills on the border with Azerbaijan, who was the spitting image – in
both voice and appearance – of Al Pacino. I forgot to take a picture.
11. Going
on wine-tasting tours of wineries is lots of fun and amazing value for money.
Clever business, too. Get people tipsy, they feel compelled to buy. We fell for
it.
12. I’ve
said this many times before. When guidebooks say that the people in a country
are ‘hospitable’, it’s a default setting for when you don’t know what else to
say. At times, I felt like they actually meant ‘hostile’ when speaking of
Georgians.
13.
Religious icons in cars do not make me feel any safer. It was the same in
Nigeria. If anything, I get even more anxious. At least the drivers feel secure
in the knowledge that there might be an afterlife. No such hope for me.
14. I had
a similar feeling at Davit Gareja, as monks in their black garbs clambered over
perilous rocks with death awaiting them with any misstep. Hell, death awaited
us too, but again, at least they have the promise of a possible afterlife to
comfort them. One false move for us, and it was bye-bye forever.
15. The US
and Georgia are allies, I know, but I think showing MLS – Major League Soccer -
matches everywhere is taking things a little too far. Does any other country
actually broadcast MLS?
16.
Different prices for locals and foreigners for museums and galleries? I hate
it. The more so when poor Ukrainians – I considered myself one, at least on
salary terms – are also charged the foreigner rate, plunging currency and all.
Aren’t Georgia and Ukraine supposed to be friends?
17.
Another pernicious American influence? Shops blasting A/C at freezing cold
temperatures…while their doors are wide open! What are they trying to do, cool
down the entire city? Even America isn’t that bad.
18. There
is always a danger in revisiting old favourite haunts. Prospero’s Book and
Coffeeshop is legendary in Tbilisi and I had fond memories of my time there in
2008. This time? Not the same at all. Lousy coffee, lousy service, ridiculously
high prices and it just didn’t feel right.
19. Brief
technology sucks rant: travel used to be so much easier in the pre-internet
days. Less stress, just turn up, look for a place, see if there are spots,
perhaps call up. Less choice = less anxiety, in my book.
20.
Georgia apparently has a public smoking ban, but it’s a bit of a joke. They
must be the biggest smokers on earth.
21. When
churches insist on no shorts and women covering their heads, but then allow the
most ghastly fashion on earth to pass unnoticed…yeah, I have a problem with
that. And no, I don’t wear shorts much when I travel, especially in cities, but
still.
22. Near
the end of our trip, I finally came to the conclusion that in lieu of prison,
people were sentenced to work in the service industry as punishment for their
crimes.
23. The
final Pedzo meltdown. After 17 days, my patience worn thin, I had just about
had enough. We were flying out of Batumi early morning. After passing through
security, we used the last of our Georgian lari to buy a couple of cappuccinos
and a bottle of water. Let me remind you, this is after security and in the
departure lounge. There were no signs displaying this, but when I bought my
water, they took away the top.
There were
a few ‘No smoking’ and ‘No photos’ signs, but people puffed away like crazy.
Olya was scolded and told off for trying to take a photo of the people in front
of the no smoking signs.
Then, when
trying to board the plane, they demanded we down our drinks or throw them away.
I was aghast and put on a temper tantrum. Olya hid her face in shame. Pedzo
lost the plot and dramatically slung his own cappuccino into the bin, grabbed
Olya’s and did the same, and then theatrically poured the water into the bin
while barking at the security guards.
And just
for good measure, as I walked onto the tarmac, I took out the few remaining
lari I had and hurled them at the guard’s feet and shouted something to the
effect of ‘you can keep your f***ing money as well, thank for the f***ing
wonderful hospitality you’ve shown us, Georgia we love you!’
I felt
better. Olya was mortified.
When we
arrived back in Kyiv, I wanted to kiss the ground.
24. Most
important: we had a hell of a good time. I had thoughts of writing a ‘Boycott
Georgia’ post, but I’ll say the opposite: I highly recommend it. It’s a
mesmerising country with so much to offer. By all means, go.
25. This
was not exactly ‘ever-so-brief’. I’ll never learn.
[our
itinerary: Batumi-Mestia-Zugdidi-Telavi-Davit Gareja-Tbilisi-Batumi]
A year of
reading and unmet resolutions
Every year
I make the same ridiculous resolution: to read less and do/write/work
out/meditate/study Russian/keep in touch/[fill in the blank] more. And do I
ever follow through? Like hell I do. I’m not even sure why I bother saying the
same thing year after year.
By my
usual lofty reading standards, I haven’t read as much as years past. But my
book tally was well over 30, so I suppose that’s a decent year, especially
considering I dedicate most of my reading time to essays, current affairs and
whatnot.
I shall
make one minor tweak to next year’s resolutions: more fiction.
This
year’s highlights, despite a probably 2:1 ratio of nonfiction to fiction, were
as follows:
Thinking,
Fast and Slow (Daniel Kahneman) – pardon the cliché, but it will really change
the way you think. Or at least make you think about how you think.
A Spy
Among Friends (Ben MacIntyre) – despite the plethora of Kim Philby books, this
one was a treat.
Patrick
Leigh Fermor: An Adventure (Artemis Cooper) – I never tire of Fermor’s
peregrinations and I swear that one day, probably in the midst of some mid-life
crisis, I’m going to just take off and walk aimlessly around somewhere in
Europe with no fixed timetables or destinations.
The first
six Flashman books, starting with Flashman, naturally (George Macdonald Fraser)
A Handful
of Dust (Evelyn Waugh)
All Quiet
on the Western Front (Remarque)
And the best
of the year, easily:
Middlemarch
(George Eliot)
A football
gambling update
Some of you may remember last year’s little gambling challenge. It started in September 2013, as a means of getting Olya to watch 6+ hours of American football with me every Sunday evening. We picked games based on the point spread, and we got our little cat involved, putting treats out in front of her to pick her team. It stemmed from the idea that monkeys outperform 90% of all active stock market fund managers in a given year by throwing darts at a dartboard with names of companies. We figured we’d try it out on the cat, but with football (though I’ve also tried it a couple of times with actual stocks and actual money involved, with fairly good success – who needs an investment advisor?).
The damn
cat beat us both last year. My picks were based on sound football reasoning.
Olya’s were based on mascots and animals. The cat always had a choice between
cat teams who were playing (the Bengals, Lions, Panthers, Jaguars) as well as
other animals.
This year?
A far different story. Through week 8 (out of 17), I was way out in front,
finally proving my superiority in picking games. But then the tide turned, and
here we are at the end of the season and after the first weekend of the
playoffs, and Olya has somehow overhauled my lead and taken over – by a mere two
games, but I’m on a bad streak and she’s not: the momentum has swung in her
direction. The wretched little pest of a cat is level with me. I’m aghast and
beside myself. With just 7 playoff games to go, things are tight and I don’t
want to lose two years in a row. What does this say about my gambling and
football knowledge credibility?
My
exciting 2015 resolution: that’s right, just one
Speaking
of resolutions, I’m fed up with making the same damn ones year in and year out.
So for this year, I make one: to drink my coffee black, without sugar. Keep it
simple and achievable.
The A-test:
now for the big news
Or, how an innocent, commonplace mistake ended up as the best of my life
Over the
past few years here in Kyiv, I’ve conducted quite a few placement tests for new
students. They are fairly routine affairs: someone comes in, they’re a bit
nervous, you ask a few initial questions to gauge their general level, break
the ice, etc. Based on those initial questions, we then give them an A test
(elementary-pre intermediate), a B test (intermediate-upper intermediate) or a
C test (advanced). Of course, being human, every now and then I get it wrong. I
hope not too often.
In
mid-October, 2011, a student came in, and I remember it being towards the end
of my session so I might have been a bit tired. I asked the requisite questions
(What do you do? When did you last study English? What are your future plans?
Have you got a boyfriend?) and then gave her the A test.
She came
back pretty quickly with a perfect score. Um, oops: test was probably a bit too
easy. A test students usually ended up in levels 1-6 in our system (I use the
past tense here, because our system has changed and we don’t have the same
level system these days). I asked further questions and then decided to put her
in level 7, saying something to the effect of ‘this may be a bit challenging,
but let’s try it, see how you do, you can always move down a level if it’s too
hard.’ She agreed, and off she went. That was that, just another placement test
student to be sent away and forgotten. I get hundreds of them.
A few
weeks later in mid-November, it’s the start of winter term. I have a level 7
class, which means nothing to me, since I’d already had a couple and I thought
it was just another level 7 class: 10 weeks of teaching, some good laughs, some
good learning (hopefully) and then onto the next batch of students. It can be
hard to keep track of them all after a while.
I get to
class and immediately remember this student. Still, at this point, no big deal.
Every so often a student that I placement tested would appear in my class.
By the end
of the second class, it was clear that I’d made a pretty big mistake. Not only
was this girl way too strong for level 7, but she might have been too strong
for levels 8 and 9. I suggested she move up a level but she preferred to stay
in my group (where her sister was also studying). Funnily enough, there was
another student in the group that I had also placement tested and he was way
too strong as well. Detecting a pattern here? I’m not exactly cut out for
placement testing.
Anyway,
let me cut to the chase and leave out the cheesy stuff. Fast forward to over 3
years later and Olya and I are now happily engaged. I may be a shadow of my
former swaggering self in some respects, but in just about all others, I’m a
thoroughly happy man. Pedzo’s days of swash-buckling priapic exploits and
misdeeds may have come to a close, but a new chapter is about to be written.
I best end
there in case I go overboard with the sentiment.
Happy New
Year.
Thoroughly enjoyed reading that. A belated happy new year and a congratulations on your engagement. Joe (from the delta)
ReplyDelete