Michael headed off to Russia keen to find out what makes life in Yaroslavl different from life in Exeter and exactly what the point is of twinning in the first place. Like many of the Devonians taking part in the annual twinning trip, he had little idea what to expect from his week in Russia - and also had no prior knowledge of the family with whom he would be staying. This is Michael's Diary of a week spent in the world's biggest country... TuesdayIt was the language that first made me realise that I had arrived. Not the announcements on the airport public address, (to my ear they could have been Polish, Czech, Bulgarian or any other Slavonic tongue) but the written notices. The Cyrillic alphabet makes each word look like a particularly taxing edition of Breakfast's 'Early Bird Challenge' viewed in a mirror. The journey from Moscow's Domodedovo Airport to Exeter's twin city of Yaroslavl takes about five hours by minibus, so I used the time profitably talking to one of our hosts – an English teacher named Marina – and trying to learn how each letter sounds.
 | | Michael with his host family |
I'm probably not her best student, but one day into the trip and I'm getting the hang of it. For example, there's P (sounds like R in our alphabet), B (sounds like a V) not to mention Д, Ж, З, and И. See what I mean? Our journey began on a 12 lane motorway around Moscow lined by Soviet-era concrete blocks of flats sprouting in groups like giant mushrooms by the roadside. Soon though we were in the countryside, passing villages and Dachas. They are the Russian version of second homes, though they don't carry the negative connotations that the phrase has for some in Devon. Still further along our journey the road becomes a single carriageway winding its way through this beautiful and almost inconceivably vast nation. A signpost tells me that it's another 1200 kilometres to Archangel. The Barents sea port north of the Arctic Circle must be two or three days drive away on these roads but once the road passes Yaroslavl (ЯРОСЛАВЛЬ) it's the only destination of any size. As I write we're still travelling, and though we're not due to meet our host families until the late hour of eleven o’clock tonight, I do at least have the consolation of knowing it will still be daylight. Yaroslavl isn't quite far enough North to get 24 hours of sunlight at this time of year but it's not far short of it and I won't see another night dark enough to see the stars until I get back to Devon. Wednesday'Broken old car', said my host apologetically as I slammed the door with a loud clang. He needn't have worred; the old Lada was in considerably better condition than that which used to belong to a friend of mine. I seem to recall that he ended up selling his for the grand sum of 10p. Besides, after 19 hours of travelling I was just happy to be nearing the end of my journey. Vladimir and his son Kirill had come to collect me from the city centre; his wife Olga and their daughter Natasha were waiting back at their spacious modern flat. Vladimir and Olga both lecture at the University (in Mathematics and IT,) but it's Natasha, fresh from completing her Economics degree, who is the most confident linguist. She was educated at Yaroslavl's School Number 4, which specialises in teaching the English Language.
Wednesday morning and the family get their first taste of what they have let themselves in for as the strange Englishman they have invited to stay with them for the best part of a week brings a suitcase full of broadcasting equipment to the breakfast table. In fact they cope remarkably well, and the food is superb. Olga's obviously a great cook, helped by having fresh ingredients to hand, freshly harvested at the family Dacha. Then it's into the city for a meeting with the Vice-Mayor. He seems to be a charming man and a consummate politician who fulsomely praises Exeter. He can't resist making a joke at the expense of the England football team though, which I thought was a bit rich coming from someone whose country didn't even qualify! A tour of the city starts with the Church of Elijah the Prophet. It's quite simply one of the most astoundingly beautiful and ornate buildings I have ever seen. There's a service underway inside and the beautiful singing combines with the extraordinary frescoes and architecture to create an impression in my mind that I will never forget. Religion in Russia, incidentally, is undergoing a remarkable revival. After nearly a century of repression attendances are up, and according to more than one person I spoke to faith is becoming fashionable. I wonder how many Devon vicars or priests could honestly say that about their church? It is difficult to top the experience of the Church of Elijah, but our guide Olga (another one) achieves the impossible with the story of Peter the Great's tax on beards. Looking to transform Russia into a more western society, he imposed strict financial penalties on anyone found to have excessive facial hair. I dare say the extra treasury income came in handy too. Let's hope no-one tells Gordon Brown. | 
