For my year abroad, which would be split between Russia and Germany, I enthusiastically anticipated a stay in Moscow or Leningrad, or even Voronezh (where the Single Hons students went for a whole year), but my hopes were dashed. Because of a more or less moribund twinning arrangement I was to be sent to Minsk, the Belorussian capital. To say that Minsk was not a lively city in the late 70s would have been an understatement. Our hostel, on Omskiy pereulok was basic even by Soviet standards. The showers were reminiscent of Zoshchenko’s famous “Banya” story, with alternate days for male and female residents and a day off on Sundays! The washing arrangements for clothes in metal troughs did nothing to encourage personal hygiene. Meanwhile, upstairs in the gents, pipes hung loosely from broken fittings and piles of bricks on either side of the toilet bowls negated the need for lavatory seats. Loo paper was, of course, not provided, but local students helpfully left plentiful supplies of “Pravda” and “Izvestia” handy, just in case you forgot to bring your own from the dormitory. The Cuban residents occasional left their daily too, but the paper was far too shiny to be very effective!
Lessons were often dull and uninspiring. A rotund lady called Yadviga Stanislavovna brought some flair to the proceedings when she extolled the virtues of venturing barefoot into the woods whilst staying at one’s dacha, but unfortunately no invitations to join her were extended! Another lecturer called Prokopovich, a professional interpreter, injected some life into lessons too, barking out English translations of typical phrases from the Soviet press in quick-fire succession and demanding instant translations back into Russian. We were granted one trip to Leningrad during our stay, memorable largely for our first sighting of fresh oranges in a grocery shop window. We ran across the road from the station to admire the display. Fresh fruit was not bountiful in Minsk.