A student from Altai State University, Maria Tarabrina, is completing a six-month internship in China. We offer you to read her notes on exploring Chinese culture.
Every year, more than 20,000 Russian students embark on language internships worldwide. Yet only a few choose a path that skips English, diving instead into China’s hieroglyphs and tones. My story is about how I ended up in tropical Wenchang, challenging not just the language but my entire worldview.
Until my second year, China remained a vague spot on the map. I would browse bookstore shelves, flip through Chinese textbooks gauge their difficulty and sigh in relief that they weren’t for me. But then, a month later, I would return to buy them and start studying. Everything changed after I met Natalya Dvoryanchikova.
September 2024. I noticed a post on the public page of the Institute of Humanities about a group for beginners eager to learn Chinese. The first session featured by with Natalia Sergeevna. She described China as a civilization shaping global trends today. The passion in her words ignited a fire in me. I wanted to experience it firsthand and started learning the language from scratch. The first step into the void were the lessons in this course. Natalia Sergeevna and Yan Mei, a graduate student at Altai State University, taught us. They guided us into the world of hieroglyphs and late nights memorizing them. However, I never regretted it. Next, I visited the university's International Affairs Department. There, I learned that a dream often hides amid stacks of documents, and the office staff became my allies in this quest.
In May 2025, I saw the first call for a language internship and applied with some trepidation. The International Department staff promptly helped me gather the required documents.
Then came the summer of 2025 and the long-awaited letter stamped by Hainan College of Foreign Languages. An invitation. It carried the scent of the sea and something utterly new.
September. Plane. By the time I landed, I had reached a basic level of Chinese, honed over a year of diligent study. But reality outpaced textbooks. In southern Hainan, people speak with a distinctive accent, soft and melodious, "swallowing" certain sounds. My memorized phrases drew polite but puzzled looks at first. It was like knowing the notes yet missing the melody. I had to relearn not just the language, but my ear too.
I realized my first day in China was something extraordinary, something that will never happen again. It was the first day of life in a new country, that would become home for the next six months. It felt different then than it would a week later.
My new schedule became both my salvation and my challenge: written Chinese, spoken Chinese, listening, general language, and Chinese culture. Here, theory took shape. The fear of failing, caught between Altai State University and Hainan, loomed large. But I avoided that abyss. My teachers back home were accommodated me, and my classmates shared notes. This support became my safe haven.
In culture classes, I learned Chinese wushu, how to cut out festive figures from paper, and how to make lanterns. We even tried on traditional clothing.
A haven of novelty bubbled everywhere, and I embraced it. The college arranged exciting trips: along with other foreigners, I visited the cities of Linggao and Danzhou to deliver open English lessons in local schools. The children's sparkling eyes as they shouted "Hello!" and tried to introduce themselves created an unforgettable experience that dissolved all boundaries.
On a long weekend, my friends and I headed to Sanya — a realm of turquoise waters, white sands, and skyscrapers. On regular weekends, I often explored Haikou. The island's capital enchaned me with its contrasts: the historic Qilou neighborhoods rub shoulders with ultra-modern skyscrapers. This was all thanks to the incredibly convenient and affordable high-speed train system, which turned the island into my personal universe, accessible for exploration.
At college, I met teachers from around the world. It wasn't just Russian guests. There were interesting people from Italy, Spain, Thailand, Brazil, Indonesia, and Belarus. And they were all remarkably friendly. We shared a passion for learning languages and understanding each other's cultures.
As a future media specialist, I was struck by the difference in media consumption. In Russia, social feeds emphasize dialogue, text, and debate; here, impeccable visuals dominate. Douyin (Chinese TikTok) goes beyond short videos – it's entire mini-performances with stunning color grading, special effects, and meticulous attention to frame aesthetics. Even going to the cinema felt revelatory: I watched Now You See Me and Zootopia with Chinese subtitles. It was a different experience, witnessing how Hollywood plots are adapted to the local context through culturally tailored jokes. Even WeChat, unfamiliar to Russians yet commonplace for Chinese people, was another novelty. It's something similar to our Telegram but with a distinct visual style, it enables payments everywhere – from stores and marketplaces.
Here, people casually post their cafe meetups, and discuss food like a dedicated hobby. They apply millions of filters, seemingly embedded in their phone cameras. Many believed photos or videos with foreigners bring good luck. On the street, you're sure to hear "Hello!" directed at you, or requests for sneaky snapshots.
Media here forms a high-tech, intensively visual stream that captures attention with pinpoint precision.
But the greatest discovery was the people. At the College of Foreign Languages, we received such thoughtful care that any sense of disorientation vanished quickly. They helped us get SIM cards and bank cards, explained everyday functions in cafeterias and stores to avoid confusion. In restaurants, they warmly recommended the best dishes, and at the stalls, selected prime fruit.
I also found kindred spirits by attending classes where Chinese students learned Russian. We became friends, bridging the language gap. I assisted them with tricky cases, and they guided me through subtle tones.
I know I'll miss my Chinese friends, who became my guides to a new culture. I'm already making a wish to see them again at least once after graduation.
I must leave soon. Even now, the thought stirs a heavy, sweet sadness. It will be hard to say goodbye to the ocean, night markets, and the friends we understood each other without words.
Chinese culture doesn't just embed itself. It seeps in, like jasmine’s scent in a cup of tea. It's in the respect for knowledge, the harmony of skyscrapers and ancient pagodas, in this incredible blend of millennia-old traditions with a futuristic horizon. It settles quietly in the heart forever, reshaping your inner landscape. Hainan, once a mere dot on the map, has transformed into an entire continent within me. And this continent stays with me forever.