Time's Up Tomsk!

Apparently responding to my comments last week, the cold has returned with a vengeance. It’s a cold that will freeze your water bottle, cause icicles to form in your nostrils and even make your I-pod stop working. It’s a bitter cold, but it’s exactly what I was hoping for. Anyway, the end of my Siberian odyssey is, regrettably, upon us. It is a journey that has taken me to the depths of Siberia, with Baikal and Altai the highlights, as well as allowing me to experience that joyous reality that is, of course, life in Tomsk. From a TV appearance to being beaten with branches by some Sergei or other, Tomsk really has had it all. I’d like to wrap up my time in Russia by looking at the some of the things that will no longer be a regular feature in my life.

Before

After

Pelmeny

Pelmeny is, as you may have previously gathered, a simply sensational dish. Flavoursome doesn’t quite do it justice. A mincemeat mixture of beef and pork, wrapped in a thin layer of dough, it is perfect for a hungover day, not least because it takes approximately 4 minutes to cook. These glorious pockets of heaven have stolen a place in my heart and will be sorely missed.

Snow

I have become accustomed to seeing a thick blanket of snow all around town. It makes everything look nice, all the time. The sound of crunching snow underfoot is one of those memories that you can’t convey in photos. Also, hardened snow is great for sliding. I will miss sliding. Sliding is great fun. Falling over is less fun, but watching a stranger fall over is absolutely priceless…

The River Tom under ice and snow

Cigarette Smoke

The lack of a smoking ban has rather irritated me. Every time I go to a bar, club, restaurant or café, the smell of cigarette smoke looms in the air. It clings to your clothes, meaning putting a wash on has become a painfully regular occurrence. In my opinion, pretty much anything bar underwear can be worn more than once. The jumper, for example, can be worn a good few times before it needs a wash. But not here! My levels of personal hygiene are through the roof…

Curfew

This one has been a real pain. Being forced to return before midnight or after 6am can be problematic. It means you have to leave bars at around 23:15, or stay, and risk everyone leaving shortly after midnight. Fortunately, I have become more and more friendly with the babushkas who sit at the entrance, so occasionally I can return later. It is certainly something that I will be glad to see the back of…

Greetings

When you bump into some friends, the protocol is simple. Men shake hands with men. That’s it. There’s none of this kissing on the cheek business that we have, which only makes a situation more awkward. If you don’t know how many kisses to give or whether just to hug it out, the tension can be unbearable. If you’re exceptionally unlucky, nightmarish calamities, such as banging heads or brushing lips may ensue. The Russians don’t even run the risk of such horrendous social abominations from taking place. The simplicity of the procedure here means that I can stride confidently up to any group of friends, knowing exactly what is about to happen. Unless there are other foreigners there, in which case the whole theory is thrown into absolute chaos.  

Zlata

Zlata Ognevich was Ukraine’s entry to the Eurovision Song Contest last year. Despite the magnificence of her song Gravity, she did not manage to win the competition, even though we all know she was far better than that Danish tree hugger. I promise I’m not bitter. Fortunately though, I have had the pleasure of hearing her song played in cafes, shops, restaurants and several hundred times on my computer. The note she hits at 2:02 is a sensation. She isn't bad to look at either... 

I could go on, but a 4:30am wake up call is looming large. I shall leave you with one final snippet of Russian wisdom. The well-know fable of a stork bringing newborn babies to their parents, used to avoid telling children about reproduction, is also popular in Russia. But not as popular as the idea that babies are found in cabbages, superbly depicted in the picture below. Quite simply, you just cannot make this stuff up. Tomsk, Siberia, Russia, it has been an absolute pleasure.

"You were found in a cabbage, son"

The Russian Festive Season

In a matter of moments I will be boarding a train to Irkutsk, a city on the banks of Lake Baikal, famous for being the world’s deepest lake, and also one of its clearest. In July 2010 I visited this lake and even took a dip in its crystal clear waters, but I doubt I’ll be swimming this time round. The water will be frozen enough to walk on and temperatures are set to drop to -25 degrees. Getting there requires another trip on the Trans-Siberian Express, this time a 30-hour journey. On this occasion, I sincerely hope that I will be able to open a window…

The festive period in Tomsk has been a successful one for me. I managed to celebrate Christmas in a relatively British manner, received a couple of presents and even managed to give some to my family, thanks to a scavenger hunt, planned months in advance, which worked better than I could have possibly imagined. In Russia, the 25^th December is a normal working day, with the real celebrations beginning in the evening on the 31^st. My celebrations began on the 24^th December with a drunken, but delightful party with French, Germans and Italians. Christmas day was marvellous: my first proper, White Christmas making up for the absence of turkey and sprouts. Furthermore, I have had ample opportunities to sample the Russian festivities, which seem to last a lot longer than our British equivalents.

My Christmas meal. (Gravy was added later, do not fear).

Firstly, there is the New Year, which I have now celebrated three times. Vodka, cognac and champagne all play leading roles in the festivities, supported by lots of fish and mushrooms. Incidentally, mushrooms are a big deal here. Most people can name about 10 different species of mushroom and ‘mushroom picking’ is a popular hobby. Indeed, I heard the most wonderfully Russian tale the other day: during the summer, a man was picking mushrooms in the forest, when he came across a bear and hid in a tree for an hour, making him late for a balalaika lesson. (Alright, only two thirds of that is true.) Anyway, these celebrations involve lots of chat and lots of toasts. As I’ve already mentioned, they love a good toast here, and not toasts like we have at home, but often over a minute long, involving an anecdote or joke. I’ll be honest; sometimes you do need a break from the mushrooms. During these various New Year celebrations, I discovered a few more interesting Russian customs:

• It is bad luck to celebrate your birthday before the day itself. (So don’t throw a Russian a surprise party in advance. It won’t go down well...) 
• A man will only shake the hand of a woman if she proffers it. 
• When you play Secret Santa, you never reveal your identity. (Ever.)

My actual New Year’s Eve was spent in a cottage with about 40 other students, of several nationalities. Some Russians had prepared more traditional food and we all watched Putin give his little message (just like the Queen does on Christmas), before uncorking the champagne and dancing until the early hours. I would say that the playlist was somewhat lacking in 80s classics, but I persevered nevertheless. I was throwing all kinds of shapes, such that not one, but two Russians asked if I had taken lessons!! Apparently, my ‘latin’ moves to Juanes’ Camisa Negra looked professional… I can’t really take a Siberian man’s opinion on the intricacies of good salsa footwork seriously, can I? The evening also involved several trips to the sauna, handily placed near the front door, allowing for swift exits to throw oneself onto piles of freshly fallen snow.  

Leaping onto the snow.

The Russian festivities don’t stop there though! On the 7^th January, most people celebrate Christmas, which is a much more religious-based affair. Then, on the 13^th January, they celebrate the “Old” New Year. Now, this is completely ridiculous. Some people may not be aware that until 1918, the Soviet Union still used the Julian Calendar, rather than the Gregorian Calendar that us Britons are familiar with. The Julian Calendar is the same, just 13 days later. This means that the Russians celebrate the New Year twice in the space of a fortnight. That’s really not fair. The final celebration, as far as I can make out, is крещение (krescheniye), which means baptism. This involves people throwing themselves into ice-holes. Needless to say, I will be participating. Watch. This. Space.

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.

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"