Tomsk vs. Rio de Janeiro

My time abroad has sadly come to an end. Siberia and Brazil have given me a sensational, albeit peculiar, year. I´ve managed to squeeze in an array of activities, from television appearances and rides on snowmobiles, to burning on sandy beaches and experiencing World Cup hospitality. Of course, my two destinations couldn´t have been more different. The weather jumps out as the starkest contrast between Tomsk and Rio, but in terms of language, culture, people and more, these two places have almost nothing in common. However, despite all this, I shall attempt to answer the million-dollar question: which did you prefer?

Ipanema Beach vs. The (Frozen) River Tom´

Language

As the year abroad´s primary goal is to increase one´s ability to converse in a foreign language, where better to start than with that most glorious of gifts that has been bestowed upon humankind: language. Firstly, it´s worth saying that Russian and Portuguese are completely different. Cyrillic vs Roman, Slavic vs Romance, guttural vs nasal; they just don´t match. Portuguese in Brazil has a sing-song quality that has grown on me over time and the cariocas love to throw in a lot of slang, which is always fun. I found my appreciation of the language increasing as my fluency grew. But it has nothing on Russian, a language that has enchanted me for years. Its absurd grammatical complexity contrasts with everything making such perfect, logical sense. Simply put, Russian is ruddy brilliant. Tomsk 1-0 Rio

Weather

The climate has probably been the most talked about topic of this year. The temperature swing was about 70 degrees, from -35 to +35, although it wasn´t at those extremes for long. Tomsk actually experienced one of the warmest winters in years, which was a great shame because I had really been looking forward to experiencing exactly how one might live at -40. However, I did discover that taking your clothes off at anything below zero is never a very good idea. In leaving Russia at the end of January and journeying across 11 time zones to Rio, my biggest nemesis was no longer frostbite, but sunburn. I am notoriously susceptible to burning, but just about managed to survive. The warmth was certainly pleasant, but was very frustrating when sitting inside at work. In fact, if it weren´t for having a job, I might well have forgotten what wearing trousers felt like. This one is a tough call, but as Siberia´s climate didn´t meet my high expectations, I have to give it to Brazil. Tomsk 1-1 Rio

The City

It may not be fair to compare these two cities, as one is so much bigger than the other, but here goes. Firstly, Rio´s mountains and beaches make it one of the most beautiful cities in the world, so Tomsk already has a tough task to compete. However, either because of the heat or poor infrastructure, or both, Rio´s streets can sometimes smell a wee bit unpleasant. Tomsk doesn´t have this problem and I like to think it´s because the cold air just kills any bad smells. I will leave out other things like traffic jams and delays, given Rio´s relative enormity, but there is one key point of comparison: snow vs sand. Snow is elegant, graceful and fun. Sand sticks to you, ends up EVERYWHERE in your house and mates don´t take kindly if you hurl it at their faces. That said, Rio´s breathtaking vistas just about take the biscuit. Tomsk 1-2 Rio

Hard to argue with this for a back garden

Culture

This is a big one. If you don´t like the culture of a place, you´re probably not going to have the best of times. Fortunately, Russia and Brazil both suit me just fine. Russia is fantastic and bizarre in equal measure. You need to have an open mind and embrace all traditions, no matter how strange they seem. Whether it´s stripping down naked and being beaten with leaves or pushing the frozen flesh, skin and bones of a herring down your throat, you are guaranteed some crazy experiences. Brazil is more predictable: parties, samba, football to name a few. Drinking at street parties and embarrassing myself while dancing were my personal highlights. While this was all extremely fun, it lacked the fear factor of a Russian social occasion and the hilarity that generally ensues. Tomsk 2-2 Rio

People

There are many myths surrounding Russia, one of which is that the people are unsmiling and cold. This couldn´t be further from the truth. I heard from fellow Russian enthusiasts that a Russian friend is a friend for life. I´m beginning to see why. Loyalty and friendship are key values, and once you´ve earned that, you´re in for the long haul. It is true that the people tend to smile less than South Americans, but I believe that´s only because they don´t waste their smiles on everyone. Conversely, Brazilians tend to be tremendously friendly and open, up for a dance at all hours. This rivals the temperature for the biggest difference between the two and it´s very hard to pick a winner because both sets of people are fantastic, just in completely different ways. But, narrowly, my vote has to go to Russia, for the simple reason that I developed more close relationships with Russians than Brazilians. Tough call. Tomsk 3-2 Rio

Events

Now this one is a no-brainer. National television may have interviewed me at a tree-planting festival in rural Siberia and jumping into an ice pool in mid-January sure was a hoot, but you can´t look further than Carnaval and the World Cup. Carnaval was a week or so of mayhem, drinking horrendous amounts, sleeping little and being out and about for hours on end. The World Cup was, as expected, phenomenal. Going to watch seven games in five different cities was simply outrageous and it has to be up there with one of the best months of my life. Tomsk 3-3 Rio

Extra Time

As if by magic, it would appear that after six categories, the scores are level. Despite my meticulous scoring system, I have somehow been left with the casting vote. Tomsk or Rio, which to choose? So much was so different that they are almost incomparable, but I must decide. Rio´s geographical audacity and everpresent vibrancy have certainly not seen the last of me. My time there has only confirmed that I must return. However, it is Tomsk that wins, not just for providing me with countless, magnificent experiences, but for having that little something that clicked. I´ve said before that there is something about Russia that I love, but can´t quite put my finger on what that is. Something more than the lifestyle, the people, the hilarity and, of course, the language enthralls me. It might not be for everyone, but for me, it´s a perfect fit. Tomsk 4-3 Rio (aet)

It´s official. I love Tomsk. 

Returning to my green and pleasant land after an extraordinary year will be interesting, but it is certainly something I shall aim to enjoy. Sadly, "Ra Ra Mazputin" must also end here. Writing this blog has been delightful and I am very grateful to all those that have taken the time to read it. I intend to travel more, as well as returning to Russia, in the not too distant future, so hopefully I will be able to infiltrate your lives with my musings once more. Over and out.

Colombia's Best Kept Secrets

Colombia: cocaine, coffee, danger. That's the misinformed impression. But, as millions of other travellers will attest to, there is so much more to this fabulous country. Firstly, despite the presence of all three aforementioned 'qualities', their influence on Colombian society has decreased dramatically in the last few years, as the country becomes a much safer place to live. Secondly, this gateway between Central and South America has a relatively rich history and boasts some ridculously diverse geographical phenomena.

My whsitle-stop tour of Colombia began in Guatapé, a few hours outside of Medellin. Home to hundreds of man-made lakes and one very large rock, Guatapé claims to have the best view in the world, which although not true, is an advertising slogan that brings in the tourists. To be fair, it is rather smashing. On a personal level, I sampled the skills a Colombian barber (who also worked part time as a fireman). My decision to start up an in depth conversation about James Rodriguez proved to be my downfall, as the man simply didn't stop cutting, leaving me with a rather brutal trim.

The view from the rock at Guatapé

Medellin, was the next stop, supposedly the drug capital of the country, as well as having South America's biggest wealth disparity. Indeed, affluent areas full of boutique stores and delightful coffee shops contrasted with the numerous homeless people, forraging and scavenging to make a living. This was the only place I found cocaine in any sort of abundance, with dealers targeting 'gringos', many of whom have specifically journeyed to Colombia to sample its devilishly cheap powder. Another distraction in Medellin was the 'feria de las flores', or flower festival. I didn't see many flowers, but there were several street parties and cracking shirts on offer. Medellin also boasts a rather lovely metro system that cuts through the valley in which the city sits. It has been pencilled in as a potential place to live.

Heading into the jungle

If one heads north, the temperature hits the thirties and just wandering around can be a strain on your endurance. Rather handily, numerous spectacular beaches are on offer to cool you down. In Tayrona National Park, there are several deserted beaches and trails through jungle to explore. It was a toss up between Los Naranjos and the nudist beach. Naranjos was more deserted, but a skinny dip in the Caribbean Sea is always going to be fun. The hostel, complete with straw roof, hammocks, communal meals and no artificial lighting, was a sort of paradise. The park, apparently home to thousands of species of wildlife, is a protected area.

Fred on Los Naranjos

The nudist beach

A few hours West lies the city of Cartagena. It was a crucial port in the fight for independence from Spain, but suffered from the numerous wars, which stopped the flow of fresh water into the cities from rivers. As a result, Cartagena suffered a cholera outbreak and fell into decline. You may be familiar with Gabriel Garcia Marquez's novel, 'Love In The Time Of Cholera', which is based upon this period of Cartagena's history. The city has a beautiful old town, wonderfully preserved and great to amble around. It was also where I discovered some of the delights of Colombian cuisine. Beans and rice are staple foods, not dissimilar to what you find in Brazil or the Dominican Republic. But Colombia makes the most of having a Caribbean and Pacific coast by serving up some smashing seafood dishes. The 'cevicheria' was delicious, an orange and lime-based sauce, with onions and seafood all thrown in. I also tried a sumptuous octopus salad. 

If you're feeling particularly bold, you can visit a volcano that spurts mud. We had high hopes on the hour-long journey from Cartagena, but these were dashed when we arrived at the 'volcano', which had a mere 20 steps leading to the top. That said, it was bigger than any volcano I have seen back home. There was a pool of mud in which one could wallow and frolick, whilst being massaged by Colombian men. It was a bizarre, but satisfying sensation of floating weightlessly in the mud. To get clean, you must pay a visit to the nearby lagoon, where women will get all the mud off you. I was commanded to remove all my clothes with the repetition of one word: 'naked'. I duly obliged and found myself sitting in the lagoon, being scrubbed down by a middle-aged Colombian lady. It all sounds a bit silly really... 

Cartagena- the old town

The country also serves up decent beer (far nicer than in Brazil) and rum is very common. After drinking a few Cuba Libres and attempting to dance salsa in Cartagena's 'Havana Club', I felt myself transforming into a laid-back latino. Bogota also served up some fun nightlife, namely the famous 'Andres Carne de Res'. I had heard a lot about it, but 'indescribable' came up a lot. What I found it to be was two things: a lot of fun and absolutely enormous. The music was latino, dancing was everywhere and you could wander through the mazy passages for hours. Bogota itself is a hotbed of museums, none of which I visited, but gazed at from the outside on my one day visit. 

Of course, Colombia can still be a dangerous place, as can any country. The cocaine trade is still massive, but it's different to how it was a decade ago. The drug lords take in less money to draw less attention to themselves and the risk to innocent civilians has dramatically fallen. Coffee is a large part of daily life of course, but there are misconceptions about this country and ever so much that many people aren't aware of. I'm sure you'll agree that there is far more to it than drugs and coffee. I can't recommend it enough and can't wait to be back. 

A Mazformation: Shlids Abroad

The year abroad is coming to a close. Things have changed, one of which is my hair. Being away for longer than a couple of months means that I have had to branch out, follically speaking, from my mother’s marvellous trims and into the uncharted waters of foreign barber shops. Before I reveal some alarming images, I feel I should explain the title of this post. The word ‘mazformation’ is one of my creating. As I’m sure you’ve worked out, I’ve taken the word’ transformation’ and added ‘maz’, a play on my surname. ‘Shlid’ may take more explaining. For those unfamiliar with the term, ‘lid’ can be used to describe a haircut. The addition of ‘sh’ can be read, in this case, as any word beginning with ‘sh’, such as ‘shameful’, ‘shambolic’, or something slightly more uncouth. But anyway, here is a brief look at my foray into the international hair-cutting market, and I’ll let you be the judge…

This what I looked like when I embarked on my year. A chubby, short-haired Wimbledonian, doing my best to fit in with the Tomsk ultras at the football.

A month or so later, my hair had grown, rather unsurprisingly. Apparently, I took great pleasure in pointing my hair out to the Siberians. Looking back, it seems I was unreasonably proud... 

Before long, the addition of facial hair added a whole new dimension. Admittedly, it took a long while to grow and perhaps wasn't the best choice, but it allowed me to bear more striking resemblance to a Russian policeman.

Sergei was an unforgettable part of my year. He introduced me to lots of Russian cuisine, presented me the opportunity to drive a snowmobile and invited me to sit in his lap. Despite my thinking that this haircut is actually quite decent, I have it on good authority that it isn't.

This photograph scares me. The wet fringe is quintessentially Russian, and the wispy, ginger tufts are an eyesore. I think we can all agree that this one takes the biscuit.

By the time I had moved to Brazil, I was sporting rather more dashing locks. Though far from perfect, it was a hugely necessary improvement.

Before long, I had been convinced to start wearing hats. Whether this was to cover my hair or not, it certainly didn't work as a fashion statement.

Carnaval presented fresh opportunities, namely, wearing green dresses and green wigs. It was popular with the locals; I remain convinced by this look.

Over the next few months not much was to change. However, two days ago, I was attacked by a Colombian barber, armed with clippers and scissors. It is quite amazing that here in Medellin, the home of the mullet, my lid is one of the worst.