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.”

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!

Walking in St Petersburg

I spent the first week of my Russian expedition wandering around the sunlit streets of St Petersburg with my glamorous travelling companion, Miss Isabella Craft. Fortunately, St Petersburg is an excellent city for wandering. The architecture is top notch and around every corner you’ll find another stunning cathedral or landmark site. Those of you who are, like myself, at times a little stingy, will also be delighted to hear that many places have free student entry. So even if you’re not that keen on 18^th century Russian sculpture, you can tick off the obligatory ‘museum box’ on the itinerary for a “cultural” city break, without spending a penny.

I had been to St Petersburg twice before, but had not managed to see Catherine the Great’s Summer Palace. It is 25km south of the city in a little town called Pushkin, as many things are in Russia, and really was spectacular. The sheer size of it alone was absurdly bombastic, but the design, colour scheme and surrounding park made the trip sufficiently worthwhile.

The last time I was in St Petersburg, I stayed in the amusingly named ‘Crazy Duck Hostel’. My friend, James, and I were treated to a Russian night of drinking. Essentially, we were plied with an unnecessary amount of vodka, followed by another bottle of ‘Ivan’s Finest’ from a late-night street seller. My memory of that night is fortunately hazy, but I do recall chatting a lot of nonsense and crawling to bed in the early hours of daylight. This time, we were far more sensible, perhaps the result of a woman’s touch, who knows! A highlight was eating out at a Spanish restaurant, with tapas and flamenco dancers for our entertainment. This time round I was also treated to clean bed sheets and an old woman playing the banjo, both of which have naturally contributed to an enjoyable stay.

Other evenings were spent on and around Nevskiy Prospekt. We met our friend John, a fellow Russian student from Bristol, who invited us for dinner at his outdated, Soviet apartment. He lives with two blokes, one of whom, a Swedish wrestler, gently coerced me to eat some of his favourite pickled herring. I won’t lie to you that I found it rather repulsive, but naturally, I had to bend the truth at the time to suit the Swede’s needs and his imposing physique. To read about John’s adventures, visit http://jamuzzle.wordpress.com/. You’ll see pictures of his bath, which sticks through the wall and into the hallway. Enough incentive I would have thought.

Of course, the main objective with this whole year abroad is to become as good at Russian and Portuguese as possible. Both Izzi and I had clearly been out of practice over the Summer, but I don’t think either of us were prepared for just how rusty we were going to be. At passport control, a far more serious place than its British equivalent, I spluttered several times rather than dignify the stern, official woman with a response to her question:

“Why have you come to Russia?”

Perhaps, I could be forgiven if I had never learnt the word ‘study’ in five years of learning Russian, but given that it was written on the piece of paper I was clutching, I think it must be simply classed as a horrendous failure. More amusing was Izzi misunderstanding the instructions at the check-in desk. As her bag was a little too heavy, the man asked her to put my bag alongside hers. Izzi, however, climbed onto the scales herself amid gasps and laughter from onlookers (mainly me). The man behind the counter was similarly flabbergasted and to quote Izzi: “it was very embarrassing for everyone involved.” Fortunately, I was not involved, and loved it.

Since those early days, our language has certainly improved, but there is still a long way to go. First impressions of Tomsk are good, my £32 a month accommodation seems to be holding up and we’ve begun to settle in. I shall update in a few days with tales of this fine city and, presumably, my ventures into Russia’s gastronomic sphere.