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. 

Studying Languages through the Eyes of a British Student

English is the world’s most global language. The reach of the English language all over the world is incomparable. Yes, speakers of Mandarin thoroughly outnumber Anglophones, but the significance of English can be felt everywhere, from a quiet Uruguayan seaside town all the way to a bustling hostel in Nanjing. Taking this into account, why would a native English speaker want to learn other languages?

The reasons are plentiful. Firstly, despite the worldwide reach of English, over 75% of the world’s population doesn’t speak a word of it. Secondly, learning a language is an exceptionally enjoyable experience, lending itself to travel and the opportunity to socialise with people whose experiences in life will have been entirely different to yours. Thirdly, and most importantly, learning a language is a matter of respect. In my opinion, there is nothing more disrespectful than expecting someone to speak to you in your native language when visiting their country, without making the tiniest effort to learn the words for ‘hello’ and ‘thank-you’. It is this long-standing impertinence on the part of native English speakers that causes people to squeal with delight and ply me with compliments when I succeed in articulating just a few words in a foreign language. In Britain, no one bats an eyelid when foreigners speak English; it has become overwhelmingly normal.

But why choose Russian? Quite simply, I was given an opportunity, took it and discovered that Russian is fantastic. There is a marvellous logic to this language that is hidden beneath the triumvirate of noun cases, verbs of motion and exceptions to the rules. These exceptions routinely baffle me, but I pull through and persevere. For an English speaker, the idea of cases, complex verb declensions and genders is a foreign concept, just as indefinite articles and elaborate tenses are to a Russian. Clambering over these hurdles is a constant struggle, but gradually you feel yourself improving, which feels absolutely fantastic. The other huge benefit of learning Russian is that I have to spend time in Russia. There is a mysterious something about this country that excites and enthrals me on a daily basis, but quite what that something is, I can’t put my finger on.

When speaking to foreigners about languages, the general consensus is that British people quite simply aren’t very good at them. I don’t know whether this is true or not, but it is a fact that fewer British people speak another language than our European neighbours. 56% of EU citizens can speak at least one foreign language, whereas only 38% of British people can (British Council). This statistic doesn’t mean British people aren’t good at learning languages, just that the majority of us choose not to. However, it may be that the simple structure of English means that British people struggle to pick up other languages as quickly as people from other countries.

However, another possible reason could be to do with the way foreign languages are taught in schools. The vast majority of British people will have studied French at school at some point during their education. For me, French was compulsory, and I started learning it when nothing at school seemed particularly exciting. At the age of 10, I hadn’t yet developed a linguistic passion and was fairly unenthusiastic about my French classes. The other, big problem with the system in Britain is the overemphasis on learning the theory of a language, with very little practice. As a result, language classes tend to be rather dull and pupils are likely to forget things from week to week. Furthermore, we all process information in different ways, so one way of teaching a language will work well with some pupils, but not with others. I was fortunate enough to have some fantastic teachers in secondary school who both inspired me to want to speak languages, and showed me that I was actually quite good at them.

So how could the British system be improved? Unfortunately, any attempts may be futile, simply because us Brits know that we can happily pursue almost any career we want, without needing to learn another language. There is no fear factor. In Scandinavia, for example, the people accept that an ability to speak English is almost a requirement for them, a skill they need to succeed in life. In Britain, there is no such feeling. In fact, there is stubborn inflexibility towards learning languages. I’m forever asked: “Why do languages? Everyone speaks English.” We already know that this isn’t the case, so here is what I would suggest we do. Firstly, we need to offer a bigger variety of languages at an earlier age, so that pupils have a choice, rather than being forced to study French. Secondly, we need to make young children realise the importance of learning foreign languages, so that Britain is not left behind as the world develops. Thirdly, children need to be inspired early on; they need to look forward to their language classes and be excited by being able to converse in another language. And finally, the focus has to be on how to use the language skills in context, not just theory, grammar and vocab.

The Russian education system has a different approach. I don’t know exactly what happens, but I am amazed at the number of people that speak such fantastic English, without having spent any time in an English-speaking environment. For us British students, this year abroad is our one big opportunity to actually speak well in a foreign language. Our university education places so much importance on spending time abroad, to immerse ourselves with the language and culture, but Russians seem to be able to do this from the comfort of their own back garden. True, English is so readily available everywhere, in the form of music, films and advertising, that you can easily test your skills. However, this can’t be the sole reason for Russians' ability to develop such a good level of English. I’m sure there are several lessons we can learn from them. 

As you may have gathered, I am a big fan of languages. Learning Russian isn’t a chore for me, it’s a hobby. I love my degree and the opportunities that come with it. I also feel proud to represent the minority of British students that pursue foreign languages, hoping that over time, our nation will realise the importance of international communication in a language other than our own.  

Living on the Sledge: Snow Rules

Snow has fallen, all around me. Aside from giving everything a picturesque, Christmas feel, the settling snow means one thing: going anywhere is difficult. Walking, a skill that I first succeeded in performing aged 11 months, and subsequently mastered at the age of two, has become exceptionally cumbersome. Thus, words such as slip, slide, topple and tumble have frequented my lexicon of late. Isabella and I have developed a scoring system to enjoy the snow, cold, slush and of course, ice. For if you can’t laugh at your own trivial misfortunes, then life in this world will be extremely tough. Over time, players will amass an accumulative points tally. The beauty of the system is that there are two ways to play: either you cautiously tread everywhere, aiming for a low total; or you live more dangerously, with a carefree "let's see what happens" attitude. Therefore, winners can come from either end of this double-sided spectrum. And now: living with snow rules.

• Stepping in a puddle- 5 points.
• Getting sprayed by a car- 20 points.

Puddles are devious little creatures that silently hide on pavements and attempt to drown your feet. It can be hard to tell what is ice and what is water, so you must always have your wits about you and you will find yourself staring at the ground an awful lot. The rush of freezing cold water submerging your toes is a particularly unpleasant sensation, but there may be worse to come, with more points on offer (see frostbite). However, getting sprayed by a car is a rookie mistake. We have been here long enough to know that if you stand too close to the road, you are simply asking for trouble. As a result, a drenching caused entirely by a combination of a lapse in concentration and your own remarkable stupidity yields a larger amount of points.

• Stacking it- 10 points.

I am fortunate enough to have avoided falling over so far (touch wood), but it is only a matter of time. Whatever journey you make, whether it be long or short, you will at some point be under serious threat from the ice. I have adopted a shuffling approach as well as keeping my knees shoulder-width apart, to maintain a strong, solid base. Unfortunately, even this may not be enough. Of course, the severity of the fall may change the amount of points awarded. Players will be rewarded for making flamboyant attempts to not hit the deck, and punished for falling whilst attempting a deliberate slide.

• Hit by falling snow- 35 points.
• Struck by a falling icicle- 50 points.

All over the city, there are signs warning pedestrians about snow falling from rooftops. We have already experienced several near misses. Points may be awarded for exceptionally close calls, or perhaps for expert avoidance, as well as quite literally taking it on the chin. Falling icicles are no laughing matter. 100 people per year are killed by these demons. We are hoping this won’t happen of course, but icicles do offer the most points. (http://www.oddee.com/item_98002.aspx)

• Being asked if you’re cold- 5 points.
• Receiving strange looks and comments- 10 points.

Wonderfully hospitable and caring that Russian people are, they are obliged to frequently ask whether you are cold or not. So stubbornly polite are us Brits, we will always answer this question with a stoical ‘no’, even though we are invariably freezing. The strange looks you might receive will be to do with your choice of clothing. Centuries of experience mean that the Russians know all the best ways to deal with the cold, and we don’t. Our ways to combat the temperature will certainly make us stick out like a sore thumb.

• Frostbite- 45 points.

Speaking of sore thumbs, let’s move onto frostbite. This is another big scorer and another one that I hope I won’t come across. If I do lose a finger, at least I can live safely in the knowledge that I’ve added 45 big ones to my total.

• A collision with a person, car, bus or tram- 10, 20, 30 and 40 points respectively.

Collisions with people are fairly likely, as safe places to walk become fewer and therefore more crowded. Modes of transport are slightly different. You have to remember that the snow covers the road and road signs, so zebra crossings may as well not exist anymore. The traffic can be a bit crazy and takes some getting used. I am still not used to looking out for trams, so I imagine that this will be my downfall. Below is a picture of what my face might look like if pressed up against the window of a tram. It is actually a picture of me singing The Beatles last week in a band of Russian scientists: yet another classic aspect of my Siberian life…

"Sasha and the Scientists"

The Russian Nightclub: Pros and Cons

The nightclub. A phenomenon in existence all over the world, largely based on the same premise: people of a certain age can dance, socialise and drink in a predetermined establishment. Of course, as with anything, cultural differences manifest themselves everywhere and the nightclub is no different. Below are my observations and thoughts on the Russian nightclub.

1. The Dancing

I must start with the dancing. For me, adequate dancing space is the most important aspect of a club. You need room for flailing limbs and pirouetting, or for whatever shape your body decides to adopt. In Russia, there is often too much space, but not for a lack of people; they just love having the space to move. The best example of this was in a club called Havana, in Krasnoyarsk, a huge warehouse of an establishment. One wall was lined with floor to ceiling mirrors, which led to one of the most bizarre things I have seen on a night out: people dancing with their reflection. They maintained intense eye-contact with themselves, throwing shape after ludicrous shape. In an effort to understand the these people, I have come up with a few potential reasons for practicing this hobby:

• This technique is a form of self-analysis, allowing you to fine-tune your best moves, perhaps for a competition or dance tournament.
• The reflection of your fellow dancers gives the impression that you have come here with friends, or that the club has double the amount of people.
• The mirror serves as an opportunity to satisfy your immense vanity.
• The concept of the mirror is relatively new to you and you are marvelling at the way the bloke opposite you copies your moves identically.

It is worth pointing out that most of these people have come alone. I’ve met several rather tragic people who go to clubs alone, in search of friends or perhaps a lover. But these clubbers clearly had no intention of socialising; they were at one with the music, intent only on furiously expressing themselves through the medium of dance. I of course gave it a go and felt utterly ridiculous, fully aware that this particular pastime requires a complete lack of self-consciousness. Fortunately, if we just focus on the dancing, the Russians really don’t hold back. It would seem that nothing is too. PRO.

Russians having a great time

2. The Music

Another vital aspect of the clubbing experience, but one that Russia hasn’t quite got right, is the music. Russian pop music seems to be pretty dire at the moment, exemplified by people being embarrassed to tell me the names of any current artists. In the clubs, fortunately, the majority of songs use the recognised dance music conventions of a four to the floor beat and strong bass. They even play popular, Western songs, just with a slight problem: everything is a remix. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love a good remix, but when someone takes Avici’s ‘Wake Me Up’ chorus away from me, I start to get a little irritated. Why play a bang average remix of such a fantastic song? Furthermore, there isn’t much variety. Yes, 5ive and Selena Gomes are unexpectedly popular out here, but until they start bringing in the likes of B*Witched and Hall & Oates, they won’t have my vote. CON.

3. The Cloakroom

This one is very simple. You don’t have to pay to check a coat, scarf, bag, or presumably anything into the cloakroom. Anywhere. I hope this is out of generosity, because when it gets cold you simply can’t leave the house with less than a couple of layers on and it is simply too dangerous to tempt people into going out in just a t-shirt, in an attempt to save a little money. Another marvellous feature of Siberia in general is that every bar, restaurant and home has an abundance of coat stands. Is there anything better than a good coat stand? PRO.

4. The Striptease

This is another one of those classic things that Russia has decided is normal, as some bizarre form of mid-clubbing entertainment. The music stops, the DJ says something inaudible and everyone turns their attention to the stage (yes, stage). A scantily clad woman will appear and begin to seductively remove her few remaining clothes. Normally, a little is left to the imagination, but in Krasnoyarsk’s aforementioned Havana Club, the ‘performer’ took all of her kit off. Everything. Spectators, primarily male, had gathered in front of the stage, clutching a beverage and watching absent-mindedly, as if this was merely a news broadcast. Even our beloved dancers at the mirrors had wrenched themselves away from themselves either to watch the spectacle, or to seek refreshment in their half-time interval. I found the whole thing quite unnecessary. I’m sure this woman was talented in her craft, but had I wanted to see it, I’m sure there are places I could go. At least warn us upon entry! The sign should read: “Half price drinks before 12, Moscow DJS and Svetlana’s genitals.” CON.

5. The Platform

The brilliance of the platform mustn’t be underestimated. It allows us amateurs to showcase our talent for the whole club to see. If you are lucky enough to find a platform with a pole, use it well. It may be a while before you find yourself in this situation again and you should never pass up such an opportunity. Clubs in Russia fully understand the importance of a good platform, such that you are often allowed to dance on the bar, in the unfortunate event of occupied platforms. But the platform is more than just a dancing tool. It is a vantage point, a break from the crowds, and even somewhere to socialise. People you meet on the platform can become lifelong friends; you will find that your views and ideals are similar, as well as sharing a love of looking like an absolute cock-womble in front of everyone… PRO.

 

Tomsk's finest club (apparently a restaurant as well, why not?)

6. The Competition

Similarly to the striptease, some clubs will incorporate a competition into the evening’s entertainment: a break from the music where a few lucky punters have the chance to win a bottle of vodka, usually by doing something ridiculous like climbing into a bin-bag or reeling off their best chat up line. This also seems unnecessary and occasionally degrading, although I may just be bitter as I haven’t yet competed, and not for a lack of trying. CON (subject to change if I compete, and win, in the not too distant future).

The Russian nightclub experience is many-layered and varies from place to place, but you are always guaranteed something absurd. You have been warned.

Tomsk to Krasnoyarsk: The Trans-Siberian Railway

To continue my travelling spree of late, I embarked on an expedition to Krasnoyarsk, the capital of Russia’s biggest region, with 13 international companions. Described by the guidebook as ‘bustling, affluent and backed by attractively jagged foothills’, my expectations of Krasnoyarsk were high. A large part of the appeal was the mighty River Yenisei, which dissects the city on its 3487km journey from the Mongolian highlands to the Arctic Circle. But before all of this, we first had to negotiate our way there from Tomsk.

I had travelled across Russia on the legendary Trans-Siberian Express three years earlier on an expedition from Beijing to Moscow. This time, however, I would only have a brief taste of the train’s unparalleled eccentricities. Somehow, Izzi and I had been roped into organising this trip, eventually managing to book 14 beds on the train and two apartments in Krasnoyarsk. After the hassle of planning, I was somewhat relieved to find myself in a swarming mass of people, all aiming to board the train from Tomsk to Taiga. Despite being one of Siberia’s oldest and culturally richest cities, Tomsk infamously lost out to Novosibirsk when the railway was introduced, meaning that to join the Trans-Siberian, one has to first head south on a bog-standard train. Our excitement to be on our way was tangible; the 2-hour train journey was punctuated by singing in various languages and a rather peculiar conversation with a lovely man named Mikhail, during which we discussed various topics, ranging from the extraordinary beauty of Russian women to the “interesting” differences in retirement ages around the world.

One of many group shots

As Taiga isn’t a major station, the train only stops there for 2 minutes. Half of us succeeded in finding the right carriage as the train pulled in, but the other half had to sprint down the platform, egged on by my panicky shouts, which were perhaps intensified by the ticket collector continuously screaming “WHERE ARE THEY” in my ear. Thankfully, we made it onto the train and were greeted with a temperature of 26 degrees and a simply phenomenal stench of body odour. Now, I remember being introduced to deodorant by my form teacher in year 8, when he announced to the class that it might be time for us to start spraying our underarms and changing our shirts more than once a week. In Russia, this life lesson seems to have passed them by. In the Western world, most people feel slightly self-conscious when the reek of body odour exudes from their pores, but many Russians feel no such shame, and that, quite simply, has to be admired. I was sleeping above two babushkas, with whom I spent about half an hour chatting, exchanging stories, mainly about the length of their journey, which had involved driving from Kiev to Moscow, before three days on the train.

I’m not sure what woke me in the morning, whether it was the sunlight, the bustle of people or the fact that my feet were sticking off the end of the bed at the average male head-height, perfect for butting. It may have also been the smell. No, it was definitely the smell. I hate to be vulgar, but I can’t find another way to describe the rather horrifying deterioration in smell from the night before. Before opening my eyes, I genuinely believed that someone had opened a bag of faeces. As a result, I chose to keep my eyes closed, in case the pungent air was strong enough to burn through my cornea. Needless to say, our arrival in Krasnoyarsk was most welcome. There was no sign of the bustling, affluent lifestyle that the book had promised, rather the odd architectural gem hiding among the glum facades. Perhaps in the summer it’s a different story, but the streets were rather empty. Fortunately, the River Yenisei exceeded expectations: a vast body of water carving its way through snow-capped peaks. Krasnoyarsk’s most photographed landmark, its main bridge, which also features on the 10-rouble note, took 20 minutes to walk across and was certainly a tasteful work of craftsmanship.

Krasnoyarsk Bridge on the 10-rouble note and again in the background

The highlight of the trip was our expedition to the Stolby Nature Reserve. Stolby (столбы) translates as ‘pillars’ or ‘columns’. A forty minute bus journey and several hours walking uphill leads to a series of rock formations that stick out of the ground like giant pillars, or perhaps human fingers. At the summit, snow began to fall, creating a surreal, Christmas feel to the whole place. Wandering through the forest and climbing the rocks was the perfect reward after a long day walking and I’m sure the views would have been even more remarkable had snow not been filling the skies. Alas, our ecstasy was short-lived as night began to fall. Five of us managed to get slightly lost among the darkening trees without telephone signal or water, occasionally bumping into groups of Russian who had also fallen afoul of the rapid sunset. Fortunately, we eventually worked our way out of the forest, well aware that bears and wolves could be lurking just metres away.

Me, on top of the world. 

The rest of our long weekend was spent roaming the streets, popping into churches, cafes and billiards clubs, soaking in the Krasnoyarsk life. In an attempt to indisputably confirm our tourist-status, we gleefully played in the snow as if we had never seen it before and dined in classy establishments such as KFC. To be fair, finding somewhere for 14 people is rather difficult. We did locate an ‘English Café’ that offered a free 5 minute phone call to anywhere in the world. The phone, of course, broke almost immediately, but we were in a marvellously English environment: red brick walls were draped with tapestries as we sat at a round table, in an underground dungeon, which I explained was a highly accurate representation of our country and that we all live in buildings just like this. Unfortunately, the service was beyond abysmal. Russia does a very peculiar thing of bringing whatever is ready, whenever it is ready, meaning that you all tend to be eating at different times. I confirmed with our international companions, with nationalities ranging from Swiss and French to Brazilian and Mexican that this form of service is both unusual and ridiculous. For the first 10 minutes, we had one glass of orange juice to share between us, before coffees and salads started arriving in dribs and drabs.

I wanted to spend my final day with one last hurrah, aiming to enjoy a boat trip on the Yenisei. However, the magnificently unhelpful woman at the ticket office, thwarted me:

“Excuse me, when does the next boat leave for Divnogorsk?”

“Next year.”

What a stupendously unhelpful response. Things do seem to close for the winter months, but I’m hopeful that the world of the more ridiculous Russian past times will open up, preferably involving snow, ice and limited items of clothing.

An Outsider Looking In: The Lowdown on Homophobia and Racism

Two deep-seated concerns have resurfaced in the world’s media this week, with regard to Russia’s capability of hosting two major sporting events: the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi and the 2018 World Cup. As ever with an the Olympics, people have questioned the cost and time management of Sochi’s organising committee, but on this occasion, it is the social problems of homophobia and racism that are attracting the headlines. Given my current location, I want to offer an insider’s view on both of these issues.

This week, thousands of people have been adding their signatures to a petition, calling for the Coca Cola brand to withdraw their sponsorship from Sochi 2014, in order to condemn Russia’s new laws on homosexuality, which were passed in June earlier this year. The law banned the ‘propaganda of non-traditional sexual relations’ and means it is illegal to give children any information about homosexuality. Basically, it is illegal to demonstrate homosexual affection in public. But, unlike the international media insists on reporting, this is not a direct attack on homosexual people. In fact, Putin claims that this law defends homosexual citizens from violent, ‘anti-gay’ activists, as it should discourage people from inciting homophobic hatred. Furthermore, the law is aimed at arresting the fall in Russia’s birth rate, promoting same sex, ‘traditional’ relationships, to spark population growth. Nevertheless, it is a backward step. For me, these reasons don’t carry enough weight. Arguably, the government is responsible for not sorting out Russia’s homophobic attitude years ago, and this is their attempt to sweep the issue under the rug. But in a world where the legalisation of same sex marriage is becoming more and more common, you just can’t conceal an issue like this.

In all honesty, I’ve seen little evidence of homophobia out here, though of course, I can’t really speak from direct experiences. Last week, I was asked if I was gay by a no-nonsense sort of man who had seemingly based his judgement on the fact that I was travelling with a male companion. Also, I chose not to bring some of my more extravagant items of clothing with me, in attempt to avoid attracting attention to myself, but with hindsight I don’t feel that was necessary. Regarding Sochi, the eyes of the world will be on Russia, but I hope that the sport won’t be overshadowed by violent clashes and protests. I believe that Russia needs to reanalyse its attitude, but forcing the issue isn’t the right way to instigate the change.

The second issue that has sparked into life this week is the racism demonstrated towards black footballers. Before the European Championships in Poland and the Ukraine last year many people expressed concerns, but I don’t remember there being any problems there. I don’t see why the same thing can’t happen in 2018. Yes, some black players are occasionally subjected to racist abuse in Russia, but it is only a small portion of supporters, rather than the entire crowd. I have been to three football matches in Tomsk and at no point did I witness any racial abuse. The most high profile of these matches was against league leaders Zenit St Petersburg, some of whose fans infamously stated that they didn’t want any black players on their team, not long after signing Brazil’s Hulk and Belgium’s Axel Witsel. However, both players played in the away trip to Tom Tomsk FC and endured no racist chanting. Like in England, the main aim of both sets of ‘Ultras’ (loud, formidable fans, believed by many to have extreme political and racial views) is to intimidate the opposition with noise, and to out-sing their counterparts. It would be very unfair to label all Russia’s football supporters as racist, just as it is unfair to say that everyone is homophobic, because it tends to be a small minority of people causing the problems. This small minority has caused Manchester City’s Yaya Toure to call for a boycott of the 2018 World Cup by black players. I understand that even one player being subjected to racial abuse is unacceptable, but a boycott of the tournament won’t solve the problem. The Russian FA and UEFA need to work together to stamp out the abuse. Whether it means banning clubs from European competition or trying to target the specific fans responsible, something needs to be done. Yaya Toure has rekindled the debate and has got people talking about it. I believe it is these words that will ultimately triumph in the fight against racism, hopefully before any reckless, and potentially self-destructive, action is taken. 

I’m not trying to downplay these issues; I just want to cast them in a more realistic light. I love this country in so many ways and I don’t want people to develop stereotypes based upon a few individuals. Of course, Russia has to do something about homophobia, but it may not be possible before Sochi 2014. The re-education of a nation is not something that will happen in just a few months. In my opinion, talking about these issues is the best way to instigate change. Hopefully, these sporting events will show Russia the benefits and brilliance of diverse races and sexual orientation to allow them to move forward.

An Unpredictable Week in the Russian Altai

A week ago I embarked on an expedition to Russia’s majestic Altai. It was a journey that would take me into the heart of Russia’s countryside, with over 36 hours on buses, covering almost 2000 kilometres in just 6 days. I would experience the highs and, rather distressingly, lows of trekking in the Altai Mountains, the highlights of which are recorded below.

The Altai region lies in southern Siberia, bordering Kazakhstan, Mongolia and China. I travelled with Misha, my Polish neighbour, whose comprehensive grasp of the Russian language would prove to be invaluable. The 700-kilometre bus journey from Tomsk was uncomfortable, but just about manageable, with the promise of spectacular rivers, lakes and mountains awaiting us at the end. Our first destination was a little town called Chemal, characterised by decrepit wooden houses, muddy roads and cows patrolling the streets. The River Katun flows through the town, whose main attraction is an old monastery, perched atop an island. Rickety, wooden suspension bridges allow you to cross the strikingly blue-green water of the Katun, which winds its way through snow capped peaks and rocky cliff faces. Another feature that attracts the tourists to Chemal is the hydroelectric power station, presumably providing the majority of the town with electricity. Our stay was brief, but pleasant, before we headed back to Gorno-Altaysk, the region’s capital, to venture deeper into the Altai’s territory.

The River Katun

With a few hours to kill in the morning, Misha and I briefly investigated the leisure activities on offer in Gorno-Altaysk. An abundance of billiards clubs was rendered pointless by the fact that they were all closed on Thursdays, leaving us to assume that snooker is still a rationed past time in modern Russia. However, not to be defeated, we enjoyed ourselves with the ample amounts of ice and snow on the pavements. At midday, our bus departed for Artibash, the home of Lake Teletskoye, a place of breathtaking beauty, but almost leading us to a catastrophic demise. The road wound upwards through the forest, occasionally paved with tarmac, but usually what felt like endless stretches of corrugated iron rooftops. As ever, our primary goal on arrival was to find somewhere to sleep that night. The problem was that everywhere was closed for the Winter here, and we soon confirmed that we were the only two tourists in the whole town. Eventually, a woman opened her café for us and provided us with a lovely wooden cottage in which to sleep. The views were simply marvellous, the mountains providing the perfect backdrop to the eerily calm water of the lake. The sunset was special. As romantic destinations go, this was right up there, but alas, my companions were Misha and the odd stray dog…

The following day was eventful. Our pleasant stroll into the deserted forests was brought abruptly to an end by an unidentified growling. We had ventured off the path in an effort to find a new viewing angle of the lake, but had clearly entered some forbidden territory. I had researched what to do upon encountering a bear, knowing that it was a slim possibility. My favourite pieces of advice were: 

1. If it charges at you, hold your ground and don’t look scared because it’s probably a bluff. Bears are faster than you think. 
2. If you try and race it to a tree, you will lose. 
3. If a bear fights you, fight back!

Despite being armed with these foolproof methods of self-defence, Misha and I agreed, after some deliberation, that it might be safer to seek pastures new.

Lake Teletskoye by night 

A stroll on the other side of the lake led us to two proper Russians, Vladimir Dimitryevich and Svetlana Nikolayevna. We helped Vladimir to carry the engine from his boat into the garage and were rewarded with vodka and beer. Our request to return later with fresh supplies revealed his delightful smile, complete with gleaming, golden teeth. Svetlana Nikolayevna was a drunk; and she didn’t hold back. At 2pm, she was already stumbling around, dark bruises covering her face, presumably from when she had hit the deck in a vodka haze. Arguably my biggest regret is that we didn’t take any photographs with her.

We returned with vodka, beer and sausage, much to Vladimir’s delight. We fired up the banya as Vladimir led the way with the vodka, toasting all things from war to women. He swigged majestically, putting on a cracking show of vodka drinking. Before long I found myself in the banya. I’ve realised that they don’t do things half-heartedly here, so I happily stripped naked and allowed myself to be beaten with branches. Vladimir certainly didn’t hold back, but it was remarkably soothing and, like a true gentleman, he took great care when I rolled onto my back… Being beaten in saunas by old Russian men seems to have become a habit of mine.

Lake Teletskoye by day

 On the way home, we bumped into two blokes who seemed very friendly, so invited them back to ours for a nightcap. With Misha asleep, I found my strength fading and politely asked them to leave. Eventually, they obliged, I locked the door and gratefully went to sleep. In the morning, I was greeted with a surprising and painful sight. Several glasses were smashed on the floor, the television screen was shattered, two windows were broken, the stove had been ripped away from the wall and a tap had been wrenched from the sink. Neither Misha nor I had heard a thing. After several hours, during which time the local, “people’s” police were summoned, we were interrogated and I had a shouting match with a stubborn Russian gent, we managed to pin the blame on the two blokes from the previous night. As far as we can work out, these men had returned, in the mood to do some damage and apparently ransack our place. They manhandled Misha, caused a lot of damage and made off with some money. Despite this, we count ourselves very lucky for three reasons.  

1. Photographs on my camera allowed the locals to track down these men and bring them back to the scene of the crime. 
2. One of the “policemen” worked out that the damage to the television had been cause by a fist and demanded that we all showed our knuckles. One man’s knuckles were cut and bloody, literally caught red-handed. 
3. We were totally unharmed.

After justice had almost been done, we decided to make a swift getaway and headed off. A 24-hour stop off in Gorno-Altaysk was memorable for the rather splendidly curated Altai museum, the hostel we found underneath Spartak Gorno-Altaysk’s main stand, and the simply repulsive toilets (a hole, which many people managed to miss, leaving a quite phenomenal stench). We made it to Tomsk at 5:30 on Monday morning, shattered, but perfectly healthy. The Altai had delivered on its promise to produce unforgettable scenery and memories, just not perhaps the memories I had imagined…