I Wanna Make Plov In This Club

I have now been in Tomsk for a week and it really is rather pleasant. Yes, the accommodation is £32 per month, BUT it has everything I need. My bedroom is comfortably large enough to fit a man of my size, the shower is both warm and powerful and I have my own fridge. The one drawback is a lack of communal areas where one could meet the building's other inhabitants. Such is my desire to speak Russian, however, that I shall probably bound into their lives in the coming days whether they like it or not! Next door to me lives a nomadic Pole named Misha, giving us a most euphonious name-duo of Misha and Masha, which I'll encourage people to use here. Incidentally, I have actually started introducing myself as Sasha (the Russian short-form of Alexander), to fool people into thinking I am a Siberian local, rather than just an English gent. Alas, rosy cheeks give me away; people here seem to have colourless, almost lifeless skin. Anyway, Misha gives me vodka every night, insisting that it's medicine and you should always have some before bed. Then he'll say:

"You should have a second shot. You need one for each leg."

Quite simply, you can not argue with that logic. What am I to do? We get on very well and have agreed to fly to Tajikistan(?!) when we get some time off. I was almost entirely joking, but Misha has been looking at flights, so I'll let you know what Dushanbe is like if we actually go... (Add that to the useless knowledge section of your brain).

My crib. Pretty sure I'm not getting a roommate, but who knows...

The Russian is resurfacing after a Summer of hibernation and I'm getting back into the swing of it slowly, but it's still pretty tricky. The babushkas/ бабушки (old ladies) who look after the halls and residents often say things that I don't understand, such that my facial expression is more often than not, blank. They do love the fact that we're English though, and their smiles are just lovely. I did make a bit of a nuisance of myself by barging into a room and disturbing a working lady:

"I'm busy! Did you not see the sign?!" she barked.

The depressing fact was that I had spent the better part of a minute staring intently at the sign to which she was referring. Evidently, I had been unable to decipher the message, but decided that it was most probably an invitation to come in. Hopefully, my perseverance and brazen idiocy will help me to thrive in this fine nation, rather than lead me down the avenues of strife and deportation.

This weekend has been smashing. On Friday, I was finally allowed to reveal the secret I had been keeping for months: a surprise birthday visit to a country house for Izzi. Along with the two other Bristol girls in Tomsk, we spent the night in a wooden hunting lodge on the banks of a lake; it was pretty special. We ate plov, something that I had really been looking forward to, and it didn't disappoint! It's actually an Uzbek dish originally, and is just rice with vegetables, herbs and meat. It was delicious and there was so much leftover that Izzi and I have been eating it every day since. We also enjoyed a lovely expedition on the water in a rowing boat, with the surprisingly fierce September sun reddening my cheeks.

Boat on water  beside jetty

Perhaps the highlight was the Russian Banya experience. Sergei, the caretaker of the property gave me the full, authentic treatment. He ordered me to remove all my clothes before leading me into the steam room. Basically it's a sauna, but hotter. I have never been so hot. I was sweating everywhere, almost as badly as Ted Striker in 'Airplane!' (sensational film). I seemed to be sweating from my eyes, or possibly I was crying at the fact that I was being cooked alive. Apparently temperatures can reach 90 degrees... Sergei then beat me with branches and leaves, which was the most unpleasant part, due to the droplets of boiling water falling off them. Then it was off for some late-night skinny dipping in the lake, which was incredible. It was exceptionally bizarre, but a lot of fun and just one of the reasons I love this absurd culture. This video is quite amusing and gives a pretty good idea of what it was like.

On Saturday, we ventured into Tomsk's clubbing scene, to an establishment called 'Metro'. To be brutally honest, I doubt we'll be going again. The dance floor was enormous, crying out for moves and shapes of the utmost flamboyance, unfortunately a concept that hasn't spread this far east it would appear. The great shame was that I was beaten by vodka on this occasion. I got it severely wrong. I would put it up there with the infamous rum episode in the Dominican Republic, or the Baileys and Park Street combo. I intend to give a more insightful account of the Russian nightclub in weeks to come. I shall take heed of my father's most valuable advice: Be Good. From here on in, I will.

And this evening, we ventured out in the pouring rain to watch FC Tom Tomsk play Anzhi Makhachkala. It was a battle of the Premier League's bottom two sides, Tomsk having played seven and lost seven prior to today. We took a two goal lead early in the second half, but were pegged back to 2-2. It was a great experience and I intend to go to every home game, but the standard of football was very poor. But a point is a point, so Tom Tomsk can hopefully get their season up and running now!

I'm intending to do and see a lot before the snow comes down and everything is submerged, so watch this space!