The Return of Sergei

That’s right, folks! He’s back and he means business! Sergei finally popped the question and asked me to meet his parents. This meant a 5-hour journey further north, to the charming town of Kalpashevo, sliced by the River Ob and surrounded by the Taiga, Siberia’s famously dense and enormous forest. To get an idea of where this is in the world, take a look at this link and zoom out… 

https://maps.google.co.uk/maps?q=kolpashevo&ie=UTF-8&ei=xKzBUr7sLOLn4QSTiIG4CQ&ved=0CAoQ_AUoAg

You may also be wondering just who this Sergei character is. Well, if the picture below doesn’t give you the measure of the man, flick back to my post from the 6^th October. (http://alexmarrow57.blogspot.ru/2013/10/we-need-to-talk-about-sergei.html)

Sergei's idea, I promise.

Anyway, Sergei kindly invited me to the countryside with him, and what a weekend it would turn out to be. We arrived late in the evening on Friday night, amid a tremendous snowstorm. Biting cold and piercing snow welcomed us to Kolpashevo, a pleasant town of 30,000 inhabitants. The wait for the ferry to take us across the river was apparently too long, so we walked instead. Sergei passed this off as completely normal, but his mother’s shriek of horror when she hear what we’d done was probably a sign that even for Siberians, 16cm of ice isn’t quite enough for a man of my keeping. The experience was fantastic though. Being a river, there are of course no trees, so the landscape was a bleak, desolate wasteland, with crouching figures shuffling through the wind. I was given a brief tour of the town on the way to Sergei’s mother’s bungalow, before being plied with food and cognac and eventually a place to sleep.

A not fully frozen Ob.

The following morning I woke up late, much to my annoyance, especially as my hosts had waited to have breakfast with me. I felt rather embarrassed, but they insisted that this was absolutely fine. After a large breakfast of porridge and four eggs, we started preparing pelmeny, my favourite Russian dish, basically a small amount of mincemeat in a pocket of dough and boiled. Sergei was very keen to give me an authentic Siberian experience, which was most welcome. Pelmeny is fantastic. Homemade pelmeny is even better. It’s fair to say that that evening’s meal was most enjoyable.

Hard at work, a chef in the making?

However before I could enjoy the pelmeny, I had another banya experience to look forward to. I was slightly apprehensive beforehand, knowing that Sergei is both touchy-feely and not averse to wearing few clothes. As has happened countless times out here, I knew that the best course of action would be to just grin and bear it. And so, a few hours after lighting the banya, I yet again found myself lying on a wooden bench, very naked, being thrashed with the leaves of a silver birch tree. Three times I endured the treatment, Sergei’s whipping reaching such a climax that I have a few bruises on my side. After ninety minutes of lashes and chat, we washed and exited. Every time, the banya still takes me by surprise, but every time I understand that this really is a very normal, genuine tradition.

Sunday was simply marvellous. Fresh snow had fallen, covering everything in a layer of white gloriousness. Another trip round the town was sandwiched by more Siberian meals. The first was a breakfast of blinys, basically pancakes, dipped in sour cream, melted butter or honey. The taste was lovely, but the quantity was just too much. Russians believe that one should eat until they are full at breakfast, in order to have enough energy for the rest of the day. I of course embraced the challenge, but fifteen blinys in, I noticed that Sergei’s mother was preparing a fresh batch and declared myself unable to continue. For lunch, I tried akroshka, which really didn’t sit well in the stomach. Akroshka is salad, meat and potatoes boiled in kvass (an alcoholic beverage made from bread). I’ll be honest; I thought it was quite revolting, but am willing to suspend that judgement until summer because apparently it really comes into it’s own then.

After this lunch came the highlight of the weekend and arguably, one of the highlights of my life to date: driving a snowmobile through the Taiga forest. One of Sergei’s acquaintances was a “businessman” (outrageously fishy), who had bought a $10,000 snowmobile. His son gave me a 40 minute tour of the surrounding forest, which was just spectacular. We found ourselves in an enormous clearing and he revved it up, clocking speeds of 60km/h in waist-deep snow. How do I know it was waist-deep? Well… My guide bit off a little more than he could chew on a more intricate section, losing control of the machine and causing us to capsize. Indeed, the sensation was more similar to being on water than on land. It was alright for him, dressed in full waterproof snow gear, but I was wearing a pair of maroon chinos and long johns! And so, dressed poorly for both the conditions and fashion, I found myself waist-deep in snow.

My chance to drive the snowmobile was the realisation of a dream. I have driven some pretty cool things before, but this probably tops the list. It was made all the more wonderful by our discovering later on the news that a hibernating bear had woken form his slumber (no word of a lie) and was hungrily roaming the forest near Kolpashevo. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I didn’t encounter said bear. But I did think that if there was ever a good time to meet a hungry bear in the Siberian forests, then it’s when you’re armed with a 10000 CC, bright yellow snowmobile.

Simply spectacular. 

Dating in Russia

I wish I could take this opportunity to wax lyrical about my newfound role in life as an international player, but alas, this would be an extremely short post. Nevertheless, I have inadvertently stumbled onto the odd date with a Russian, despite the best efforts of some mind-numbingly awkward attempts at flirting, which frequently grace my conversations. If I may, I would like to share some dating experiences with you.

Far and away the most popular pastime on a date in Russia is to simply walk around for a bit (погулять - pogoolyat’). The low winter temperatures can make walking fairly unpleasant, so Russians take the opportunity to go for a casual stroll while the cold is still bearable. For a man who likes to get things done quickly, the idea of just walking around seemed rather counterproductive to me. But, I am delighted to say that it has grown on me, not least because it is a great opportunity to chat in Russian. This is the time to learn all of those useful phrases that you won’t find in an exam: primarily swear words, of which there is a wide variety, and just general slang terms. In this way, I have transformed the ‘strolling’ date into a bonus conversation class.

You will be pleased to hear that the rest of my dating experiences have been both more amusing, and not just a walk in the park. What normally happens is as follows. I agree to meet up with a girl, almost always called Katya, Irina, Nastya or Elena, and we start walking. To avoid making decisions, I tell them that they are the host, and must therefore decide where we go. This is my first, early mistake. In giving them the power, I often find myself at a museum, art gallery, or even worse, walking around the shops. We all know that the best dates are spent playing snooker or watching sport, so that you can impress her by throwing in a few facts. In the same way that I will feign a modicum of interest in Beyoncé’s new album, if she pretends to care about football, I’m onto a winner. 

Maz with girls

The middle part of the date tends to go relatively smoothly. Silence is a rarity, as I can happily talk for hours. As well as this, I’ll always have a few leading questions at the ready about family and hobbies, pre-prepared and grammatically accurate. However, the end has never, ever gone well. I throw my hands to the heavens, the internationally recognised gesture that we’re going to jovially hug this one out, but some Tomskovites clearly haven’t got the memo. One girl, despite my very clear signals, has leaned in on more than one occasion, causing me to suddenly dive sideways and shoulder her in the pouted lips. Other popular endings include one of us (namely me) causing absolute havoc by slipping on the ice or me accidentally agreeing to a follow-up meeting. Whatever it may be, something severely distressing always seems to happen.

I have met girls in the most unlikely places: travel agencies, exhibitions and even at the hairdressers. I have now had two haircuts in Tomsk. Each time, I wanted something short enough to avoid the Siberian menace that is ‘hat hair’ and each time, the hairdresser just didn’t quite cut it. But, on my second visit, I was invited to go a step further than the intimacy of a hair cut and ask out my hairdresser, Marina.

Receptionist: “Do come again! Oh and maybe have a coffee with Marina! You remember Marina?”

(Cue Marina to poke her head round the corner and awkwardly wave.)

Me: “Yes of course! Hello again… Coffee? When? Now?”

Receptionist: “No no, silly! When you ask her out!”

Me: (Uncomfortable chortle). “Great stuff. I will soon…” (Swift Exit)

Dating protocol is very different here, in comparison with England. Firstly, after a date, you are expected to call the girl the following day to ask how she is. Failure to do this can result in disastrous consequences, namely a tantrum from her and no second date for you. Of course, calling up an English girl the next day would normally warrant the question: “What are you doing?” We have that unwritten rule that you wait about three days so as not to come across as too needy. In Russia, a moment’s hesitation means you’re having doubts. They’ll happily wander around aimlessly with you, but if you don’t hastily call them, then it’s curtains for you. Incidentally, Russians do call more than they text. This actually makes perfect sense: why not sort something out on the phone in two minutes that will take a whole day’s texting to organise? But of course, this approach seems barbaric to us game-playing Brits. The most amusing thing is that they treat your decision to ignore their call several times as an invitation to resume their cyber bombardment the next day. These are the sorts of cultural differences that you need to experience first hand…

I shall leave you with one piece of dating advice for when in Russia: arm yourself with an extensive collection of turtlenecks. You will go down an absolute treat.

Maz with girls 2

So, just how well do I get around?

Rather superbly if all told, thanks to Tomsk’s quite fantastic intercity transport network. Now, this title may have been slightly misleading, but as you're here, you may as well read on. A few months ago I wrote about my escapades on the Russian motorway. Since then, my experiences on the roads have mainly been confined to central Tomsk. Of course, there have been a couple of trips further afield. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the return journey from Altai, where the coach driver chose to reverse back down the high-speed carriageway to the service station, having left two rather irate passengers stranded there. However, this sort of utter nonsense has become an almost daily occurrence, along with these other transport-related experiences:

Car

As in most cities, the car in Tomsk is the most common mode of transport. The settling snow and ice has not deterred drivers from racing round corners and basically putting theirs and other’s lives in jeopardy. Accidents are common; it would seem that many drivers have not yet worked out that having winter tyres on your car does not suddenly make you immune to crashing. In fact, crashes are, as expected, more frequent than when the tarmac was devoid of snow and ice, not helped by drivers accelerating to beat traffic lights and by participating in what would seem to be drag races on every dual carriageway. Wheel spins are common, skidding is frequent, and I have even witnessed the odd handbrake turn. However, as well as remote control locking, Russians can also start the engine with their key, so that the car can warm up. I suppose you could be forgiven for driving like a pillock when your car makes you feel like a secret agent, even if it does look like this.

A classic, Russian Volga

Marshrutka

The marshrutkas are arguably my favourite mode of public transport, ever. These are effectively buses ("маршрутка" meaning ‘little route’ in Russian), but smaller, nippier and far, far cooler. For the driver, who spends most of his time behind the wheel, the marshrutka is like a second home, adorned with ornaments, photographs, flags and often a clock that never seems to work. Comfy seats, curtains and a fantastic heating system make the marshrutka arguably the most comfortable mode of public transport in existence. You pay at the end of your journey, a fixed fee of around 27 pence, which I willingly and excitedly fork out, such is the quality of service the marshrutka provides. Like most Russians, not once have I so much as considered trying to avoid paying the fare, or as they say here: “ехать зайцем”, which literally translates as “to travel like a hare”. The only minor drawback is the six or seven gas canisters precariously perched on the roof rack, making the marshrutka not only a superb way to get around, but also a driving bomb, liable to explode at any moment…

Taxi

The Tomsk taxi is a mysterious beast for a few reasons. Firstly, it would appear that a taxi is occupied when the taxi light is on. Not off. On. This means that unoccupied taxis are unlit. Therefore, at night you cannot determine what is a taxi and what is just a car. This, quite simply, has baffled me more than anything else here. Lash me with boiling hot leaves all you like, but could someone please explain to me in what universe this makes any sense at all?! Fortunately, it would also appear that every car in town works as a taxi. There are registered taxis, but you get a different sort of thrill from clambering into an unknown, unregistered car. In a way, it’s almost like Russian roulette; most of the time you’ll find yourself riding along with a jovial Boris, or excitable Ivan, but sooner or later I’ll encounter a deranged Vladislav and the game will really be afoot.

Walking

Walking has of course been my most common mode of transport. Well, I say walking, but really mean a combination of sliding and shuffling with the odd stride thrown in, when you find yourself on an ice-free stretch of pavement.  The other major problem is that fur hats and hoods, though cosy and delightful, have also thrown me into a new dimension, where the brilliance of peripheral vision no longer exists. I have twice caused a tram to stop after absent-mindedly walking onto the tracks and was almost taken out by a gritting lorry a few days ago. In my defence, I was on the pavement (yes, they grit the pavements here too!), but that didn’t stop the driver from giving me hefty spray. Fear not though, I have upended myself twice. The first was a classic “black ice moment”, while the second occurred when I had the arrogance to run for a marshrutka. More irritated by my stupidity than anything else, I put my head down and ran on, catching the eye of absolutely nobody until a good three blocks from the scene.

Skates/ Skis

Believe it or not, I have seen the odd person skiing on the street. They have quite rightly deemed it the most practical way of running errands or picking up a few bits and pieces. Most Russians have their own pair of skates and as early as October I saw one or two rather optimistic gents wandering around with skis or a snowboard in tow. The most marvellous thing, however, is that children’s buggies have been replaced with sledges. It is of course the perfect and practical solution to the snow, but the sight of a little bundle of fur being sledged around town always makes me smile. Needless to say, I shall be hunting the shops for a Maz-sized sledge in the next few weeks…

Went skiing in jeans, felt like a bit of a wally.

Vodka

Not all stereotypes are true. Sadly, bears do not casually roam the streets of Tomsk, nor have I encountered any balalaika-playing babushkas. But there is one stereotype that the Russians live up to with indisputable distinction. I am of course talking about vodka. It is evident in every spirit-serving establishment on every night of the week, the selection of brands in your average newsagents is spectacular and the statistics speak for themselves (according to The Economist, Russians consumed almost 2 billion litres of vodka in 2012, which works out as about 45% of the world’s total consumption and 13.9 litres per person, including children). I have dipped my toe into this spiritedly flowing world of excessive consumption and have made a few observations.

Vodka selection. About 27 different brands there...

Firstly, let’s examine the name: vodka (водка). Vodka is the diminutive form of the word ‘voda’ (вода), meaning water. Thus, one could literally translate vodka as “little water”. Perhaps this gives weight to the myth that Russians drink it as if it were water. Indeed, anything seems possible in a nation where beer was only legally deemed an alcoholic beverage on the 1^st January of this year! Of course, it’s not all about vodka. Beer is very popular here too, but plays second fiddle to its far superior companion. As the saying goes: “Beer without vodka is like throwing money to the wind” (пиво без водки – деньги на ветер).

My experiences with vodka in Russia have been varied, but can be separated into two categories: English drinking (a means to an end) and Russian drinking (for pleasure). My English drinking exploits are largely forgettable, but the Russian drinking sessions have been pleasantly memorable. Misha, my neighbour, has taken on the role of instructor, or perhaps guide, when it comes to casual drinking. He tells me that he does not get drunk, merely progresses from one state of happiness to the next. The midnight curfew means that we often find ourselves at home after a night out, still in the mood for a drink. In true Russian fashion, we ensure that some tasty snacks are within reach, bread or nuts being our preference, and enjoy the vodka that Russia has to offer. The method I have learnt is relatively straightforward. Firstly, we make a toast, a compulsory part of the process (Russian toasts tend to be quite long-winded). Secondly, we sharply exhale before drinking the vodka, thereby allowing the liquid to enter our bodies like a breath of air. Thirdly, you must eat something, but it is a good idea to smell the food first. After all, around 70% of our taste comes from the smell. Creating the right atmosphere is also important and it would seem that we have settled on opera as our music of choice. Misha described my sister’s recordings as “perfect vodka music”. I’m not quite sure what that means, but have a listen and hear for yourselves.

http://elspethmarrow.co.uk/recordings

However, not everything vodka-related complements the stereotype. By and large, excessive drinking is limited to a few holidays, where consumption is accompanied by vast quantities of food, aimed at soaking up the alcohol. Secondly, I have been surprised at the number of people of my generation that drink very little, or even nothing at all. I believe I know two, young teetotallers at home, but it seems to be a far more popular lifestyle choice out here. Arguably, this is because of the alarmingly low male life expectancy and the hundreds of thousands of deaths each year related to alcohol. Whatever the reason, it was an unexpected surprise I have to say.

The other stark contrast between Russian and British drinking is the choice of alcohol. The English favourites of wine, whisky and gin & tonic are replaced by vodka and cognac; no one has even heard of the Jagerbomb. Normal practice in bars, particularly for older generations of Russian men, is to buy a bottle and just serve themselves. There is no rush or urgency to drink; they merely find that vodka is a very nice addition to their food and company. Unlike at home, it is very unusual to see someone drinking alone in public.

All in all, vodka is a part of Russian life. It is not a myth that they love the stuff here, but drinking to excess seems to be more of a British hobby than a Russian one, particularly among younger generations. I shall leave you with my translation of one author’s thoughts about alcohol:

“[Alcohol is] the water of life, an enigmatic liquid, possessing an amazing power to change a person’s mood, transporting him into a world of day-dreams and happiness.”

Tomsk's Olympic Welcome

Sochi’s Olympic torch arrived in Tomsk today and was gleefully paraded around the city. The setting sun was obscured by snowflakes as the Siberian weather finally obliged to give us some serious snow on the first day of winter. I headed to Novosobornaya Square, where hoards of people had gathered to witness Russia’s flame. The format was almost identical to the British torch relay from 2012, with police, running guards and coca-cola giveaways the main highlights. The vast crowds and fireworks displays created an excitable atmosphere in which I was only happy to indulge.

Excitable Russians and the torch

Other sporting escapades have come thick and fast for me. And as the UK Snooker Championship has kicked off in the last couple of days, what better time than to inform you of Russian billiards. This is an unusual game. The balls are numbered, but I haven’t yet worked out what they mean. The object of the game is to be the first to pot eight balls. You can use any as the cue ball and pot as many as you want in one go. This leads to a rather marvellous shot called the свояк (svoyak), involving the deflection of your chosen cue ball off a stationary ball and into the pocket. I have managed one thus far, but endeavour to improve. The major problem with this game is that the pockets are only just big enough for the balls. As a result, games can last for a while and the players’ patience can be tested. Fortunately, I have recently discovered that there is one English snooker table in Tomsk. I shall shortly be hunting it down…

A Marvellously-Executed Svoyak

As well as two trips to Tomsk’s organ hall (enjoying a magnificent Bach concert last night), I have managed to squeeze in a football session in the past week, leaving me a struggling mess of sore muscles and blistered feet. My lack of exercise has arguably been my fault, although I did join a gym to combat the issue. Unfortunately, the gym owners clearly considered a running machine unnecessary, meaning that cardio exercise has been difficult. Nevertheless, I am not one to be thwarted and regularly find myself sprinting home past bemused Russians, not in an effort to exercise, but to avoid being locked out by the babushka and having to spend the night on a snowy bench.  

A snowy scene, hopefully not a sleeping spot.  

But perhaps my most ambitious sporting mission has been attempting to teach by elementary level English students the rules of cricket. Even fluent English speakers, such as Americans, have difficulty understanding the rules of this sport, but for some reason I thought that my students could cope with it, despite the fact that many of the cricketing terms don’t even exist in Russian. I had envisaged an interactive role play about Trott’s departure, sledging and Bell’s potential rise up the batting order to number 3. Instead, the hour and a half was painful and torturous for all parties involved. I see this as yet another mistake that I can learn from.