last night's update
a big hello, an even bigger hug!
Sorry it’s been so long. Work started on Friday (more on that in a sec,) and I’ve never been more exhausted in my life. Today’s the first of 4 days off after my first 4-day shift at work, and I only now have the time and the energy to communicate with the outside world. I meant to write everyone sooner, more frequently, but life’s definitely thrown me a curve ball here (again, keep reading.) Please know that you’re all still occupying my thoughts on an hourly (if not minute-to-minute) basis. Still battling with a dial-up connection, and thus haven’t been chat-able very often. I’m going to work on that this week. To those of you who’ve written, thanks again, from deep down in my heart. Your communiqués warm my soul and remind me that, despite the distance that currently separates me from you, home’s not all that far away. Enough sap. Here’s the news:
So, since last I wrote, I’ve become a journalist (and no, I’ve not yet been paid. Still an intern, but whatever.) Friday was my first day at Russia Today. 5am. Negative 15 Celsius. I walk the mile and a half in the dark in the snow and show up right on time. Soon after arriving, it becomes clear to me that no, I’ve not been placed here as a copy editor. I’ve been given an internship as a full-blown, honest-to-goodness, no-nonsense broadcast journalist. Enter fear, confusion, panic, head-spinning, stomach-turning, world-spinning terror upon realizing that I’d been given an internship for which I was ABSOLUTELY unprepared. My responsibilities consist of compiling “packages”: information assembled from the news service wires (Associated Press, Reuters, the Russian wire Itar Tass, etc.,) turning the breaking news into reportable text, gathering film footage, putting it all together, with the help of a film editor (an amusing crew of techies, most of whom have vodka on their breath, even in the wee hours of the morning,) with sound-the natural sound from the footage, any translation of interviews given, and then my voice reading the text that I’ve written-and graphics for the screen-the little bits at the bottom that let you know what you’re looking at-and submitting it all to the presenter-the person you see sitting behind a desk when you turn on the news. So, the presenter says, for example, “A fire in a Canadian mine in the southwestern province of Saskatchewan has left 70 miners trapped underground. Amanda Getty has more.” And, all of a sudden, we see film footage of this mine, and my voice comes on and tells the story. Pretty crazy, huh? I had no idea this job was such a HUGE one.
I’m pretty excited. It’s quite a rush to hear my voice, reading my writing, on the news. The first day, I was a mess. Completely overwhelmed. Everyone is always so busy and it’s such a stressful and hectic environment (as you can imagine a live news station would be.) I came home and cried on Charlie’s lap for about an hour, convinced that I was in way over my head, wanting to hop on the next flight home. Not to mention that the night before I was so anxious that I slept maybe two and a half hours. Day two was better. I realized that, if I was going to do this, if I was going to learn anything at all about how to make this happen, I was going to have to be aggressive, and demand that people show me the ropes. And by the end of Saturday, I had my first package on the air (a short on the Chinese New Year.) Slowly but surely, I’ve been picking things up. It’s definitely the sort of job that you can only learn by doing. And despite the lack of training, despite my surly and unfriendly editor (a curt London professional type, completely devoid of nurturing or encouraging spirit,) I’m feeling slightly less terrified by it all every day. The workplace is pretty much totally English-speaking, which is the only way I’ve survived this long (I can’t imagine what it’d be like if I had to function in this environment IN RUSSIAN!) The station recruited mostly British journalists-I’m one of two Americans there. All of the technical workers-the film editors, etc.-are Russians.
Assuming I’m hired on (which I’ll know, I think, in a week, after my second shift,) I’ll only have another two 4am-5pm shifts (did I mention yet that I work 11 hour days?!) And then a month of 1pm-12am shifts, then a month of 9pm-8am shifts, then back to 5am-4pm, and so on. And, as it’s 4 days on, 4 days off, I won’t always be working weekends (which will be nice-both of my flat mates work Monday through Friday, so eventually we’ll have days off together.) For now, I’m taking it one day at a time. Being busy has left me with little time for homesickness, but this morning, when I woke up, I was hit by how much I already miss my family (I know, I know-I’ve only been here two weeks. But you know me, homebody that I am.) Deep breaths, one day at a time. This has become my mantra. And it’s still too early, I think, to consider how long I want to be here. The girl on staff with whom I’ve become the most friendly, and who helps me when I’m stuck not knowing what to do, has been here 6 months (she’s this lovely young Brit named Nadine, and I’m forever indebted to her for being so helpful. She’s saved my ass, as it were, SO many times so far.) Anyway, she’s starting to think about maybe moving on sometime this year. But there’s another girl, Sarah, who’s been working in Moscow for 3 years now. Who knows? I should probably focus my attention on getting through my internship and getting hired on-it’d be nice to get paid for all of this insanity!-before I start thinking about going home.
Seriously, though. Look at me, everyone! I’m being a big girl! I have to say I’m pretty proud of myself. The days go by pretty fast, actually, as I’m already being inundated with work: stories to follow, film footage to keep my eye out for on the wires, and the like. I like the work, and I admire the other journalists who have been there for months and who pound out quality material like it’s nothing.
So, enough about work. Things otherwise are still good. It’s warmed up (‘been hovering around -5 or so, today was a chilly -10.) Charles is here with me for another week and a half; I’ve not yet started preparing myself for his departure. Moscow’s changed so much in the last 10 years. Last night we went out for a fancy dinner to celebrate the completion of my first shift at work. I had homemade pasta with a white truffle cream sauce (absolutely to die for!) When the streets get too hostile, it’s nice to be able to disappear for a few minutes into a cozy, clean, friendly restaurant or coffee shop. Sometimes the waitress even smiles at you.
Before I say goodbye, though, one funny Moscow moment, reminiscent of years past, that will make those who’ve been here before smile. Today, as we headed out for the day, Charlie and I stopped at a stand and bought a couple of pastries (mine had cherries in it-very tasty.) A few minutes after eating the last bite of my snack, I felt that twinge of unrest deep inside my bowels; it was one of those I-need-a-bathroom-right-away sorts of feelings. Luckily, about 100 meters down, we found a pay toilet. 10 rubles later, I was inside. Not only was there no toilet paper to be found (Dad, here’s where your Moscow wisdom really would have served me well!) but there weren’t even toilets inside the stalls. There were holes in the ground. Nor were there any hooks on which to hang my coat and my bag, and the floor around the hole in the ground was wet (snowmelt mostly, I hope, but still-disgusting.) I’ve never felt dirtier, I think, in my whole life. I had to improvise; for future reference, a page ripped from one’s day planner makes fairly effective, if moderately uncomfortable, toilet paper.
More soon.
Love to all, Amanda.
Sorry it’s been so long. Work started on Friday (more on that in a sec,) and I’ve never been more exhausted in my life. Today’s the first of 4 days off after my first 4-day shift at work, and I only now have the time and the energy to communicate with the outside world. I meant to write everyone sooner, more frequently, but life’s definitely thrown me a curve ball here (again, keep reading.) Please know that you’re all still occupying my thoughts on an hourly (if not minute-to-minute) basis. Still battling with a dial-up connection, and thus haven’t been chat-able very often. I’m going to work on that this week. To those of you who’ve written, thanks again, from deep down in my heart. Your communiqués warm my soul and remind me that, despite the distance that currently separates me from you, home’s not all that far away. Enough sap. Here’s the news:
So, since last I wrote, I’ve become a journalist (and no, I’ve not yet been paid. Still an intern, but whatever.) Friday was my first day at Russia Today. 5am. Negative 15 Celsius. I walk the mile and a half in the dark in the snow and show up right on time. Soon after arriving, it becomes clear to me that no, I’ve not been placed here as a copy editor. I’ve been given an internship as a full-blown, honest-to-goodness, no-nonsense broadcast journalist. Enter fear, confusion, panic, head-spinning, stomach-turning, world-spinning terror upon realizing that I’d been given an internship for which I was ABSOLUTELY unprepared. My responsibilities consist of compiling “packages”: information assembled from the news service wires (Associated Press, Reuters, the Russian wire Itar Tass, etc.,) turning the breaking news into reportable text, gathering film footage, putting it all together, with the help of a film editor (an amusing crew of techies, most of whom have vodka on their breath, even in the wee hours of the morning,) with sound-the natural sound from the footage, any translation of interviews given, and then my voice reading the text that I’ve written-and graphics for the screen-the little bits at the bottom that let you know what you’re looking at-and submitting it all to the presenter-the person you see sitting behind a desk when you turn on the news. So, the presenter says, for example, “A fire in a Canadian mine in the southwestern province of Saskatchewan has left 70 miners trapped underground. Amanda Getty has more.” And, all of a sudden, we see film footage of this mine, and my voice comes on and tells the story. Pretty crazy, huh? I had no idea this job was such a HUGE one.
I’m pretty excited. It’s quite a rush to hear my voice, reading my writing, on the news. The first day, I was a mess. Completely overwhelmed. Everyone is always so busy and it’s such a stressful and hectic environment (as you can imagine a live news station would be.) I came home and cried on Charlie’s lap for about an hour, convinced that I was in way over my head, wanting to hop on the next flight home. Not to mention that the night before I was so anxious that I slept maybe two and a half hours. Day two was better. I realized that, if I was going to do this, if I was going to learn anything at all about how to make this happen, I was going to have to be aggressive, and demand that people show me the ropes. And by the end of Saturday, I had my first package on the air (a short on the Chinese New Year.) Slowly but surely, I’ve been picking things up. It’s definitely the sort of job that you can only learn by doing. And despite the lack of training, despite my surly and unfriendly editor (a curt London professional type, completely devoid of nurturing or encouraging spirit,) I’m feeling slightly less terrified by it all every day. The workplace is pretty much totally English-speaking, which is the only way I’ve survived this long (I can’t imagine what it’d be like if I had to function in this environment IN RUSSIAN!) The station recruited mostly British journalists-I’m one of two Americans there. All of the technical workers-the film editors, etc.-are Russians.
Assuming I’m hired on (which I’ll know, I think, in a week, after my second shift,) I’ll only have another two 4am-5pm shifts (did I mention yet that I work 11 hour days?!) And then a month of 1pm-12am shifts, then a month of 9pm-8am shifts, then back to 5am-4pm, and so on. And, as it’s 4 days on, 4 days off, I won’t always be working weekends (which will be nice-both of my flat mates work Monday through Friday, so eventually we’ll have days off together.) For now, I’m taking it one day at a time. Being busy has left me with little time for homesickness, but this morning, when I woke up, I was hit by how much I already miss my family (I know, I know-I’ve only been here two weeks. But you know me, homebody that I am.) Deep breaths, one day at a time. This has become my mantra. And it’s still too early, I think, to consider how long I want to be here. The girl on staff with whom I’ve become the most friendly, and who helps me when I’m stuck not knowing what to do, has been here 6 months (she’s this lovely young Brit named Nadine, and I’m forever indebted to her for being so helpful. She’s saved my ass, as it were, SO many times so far.) Anyway, she’s starting to think about maybe moving on sometime this year. But there’s another girl, Sarah, who’s been working in Moscow for 3 years now. Who knows? I should probably focus my attention on getting through my internship and getting hired on-it’d be nice to get paid for all of this insanity!-before I start thinking about going home.
Seriously, though. Look at me, everyone! I’m being a big girl! I have to say I’m pretty proud of myself. The days go by pretty fast, actually, as I’m already being inundated with work: stories to follow, film footage to keep my eye out for on the wires, and the like. I like the work, and I admire the other journalists who have been there for months and who pound out quality material like it’s nothing.
So, enough about work. Things otherwise are still good. It’s warmed up (‘been hovering around -5 or so, today was a chilly -10.) Charles is here with me for another week and a half; I’ve not yet started preparing myself for his departure. Moscow’s changed so much in the last 10 years. Last night we went out for a fancy dinner to celebrate the completion of my first shift at work. I had homemade pasta with a white truffle cream sauce (absolutely to die for!) When the streets get too hostile, it’s nice to be able to disappear for a few minutes into a cozy, clean, friendly restaurant or coffee shop. Sometimes the waitress even smiles at you.
Before I say goodbye, though, one funny Moscow moment, reminiscent of years past, that will make those who’ve been here before smile. Today, as we headed out for the day, Charlie and I stopped at a stand and bought a couple of pastries (mine had cherries in it-very tasty.) A few minutes after eating the last bite of my snack, I felt that twinge of unrest deep inside my bowels; it was one of those I-need-a-bathroom-right-away sorts of feelings. Luckily, about 100 meters down, we found a pay toilet. 10 rubles later, I was inside. Not only was there no toilet paper to be found (Dad, here’s where your Moscow wisdom really would have served me well!) but there weren’t even toilets inside the stalls. There were holes in the ground. Nor were there any hooks on which to hang my coat and my bag, and the floor around the hole in the ground was wet (snowmelt mostly, I hope, but still-disgusting.) I’ve never felt dirtier, I think, in my whole life. I had to improvise; for future reference, a page ripped from one’s day planner makes fairly effective, if moderately uncomfortable, toilet paper.
More soon.
Love to all, Amanda.