Christmas Still

Its the 29th of December, and still Christmas. The big celebration doesn't happen until January 7, Christmas and New Years rolled into one. Most of the lights are up now, which means practically all of the buildings (except ours - owned by our client - a real scrooge) and all of the parks. The grocery store is a mob scene. And you would not believe the amount of alcohol these folks are buying. The store is crammed full of pallets of Vodka, Konyak, and Champanski, and the people buy it by the cart full. What made my day today is, after my long wait in line, after watching all the bottles being scanned through, the lady behind me wishes me a Happy New Year in her best practiced English! I wear a parka that has the emblems of Fluor and Taneco and its not hard to distinguish me as an expat. This does not generally get worn around town, as I don't like to stick out, but the grocery store is ok. Anyway, so I say a pleasant "Spasiba Bolshoi" back, then she says "I wish you all the best." And with a truly great smile, like she really means it! I was awestruck, didn't know what to say except "Tebye Toscha" (you also). I wonder if it made her day as well, her chance to actually make verbal contact with a westerner and speak their language!

  

Christmas in the Cold Country

No doubt every year brings a white Christmas here. We have recovered a bit from the bone-chilling temperatures of last week, but its doubtful we'll see any melting until probably March. It snows nearly every day; sometimes its hard to tell whether its actually precipitating or just the wind moving the powder around.

Christmas is not celebrated here until January, on the basis of the Orthodox calendar, so for us expats it was a typical work day. Up at 5:30, on the bus, and ready to blast through the daily pressures. I took a quick pass through the office to offer some Merry Christmas greetings, but certainly things didn't feel like home. In the evening its to bed early to face another work day tomorrow. Our group got together last night, Christmas eve, and a couple of our ladies did a great job in thinking up a few games and putting together a gift lottery.

For my monetary contribution as part of the management staff, I was given as a token gift a bottle of wine, which I then traded for a tea bag holder one of the other ladies didn't want. We opened the wine and drank it, while I took the holder home. I then drew a gift of a bottle of Russian champagne. Not being a champagne drinker, I passed that on later to our building monitor as I passed through the entrance to my apartment, thinking she deserved a little something too.

I've been thinking of inspirational things to write about this Christmas given the opportunity to observe it away from the frenzy the American version usually offers. I think I have enough material to attempt some poetry. Given that this "poet" didn't create a rhyme for 40 years until suddenly smitten a few months ago with a need towards literary expression, please give me a bit of slack on this one (excuse me first while go and refill my wine glass).

What Makes Christmas

It isn't cold that makes Christmas,

Aussies, Kiwis and Springboks will say.

For in the southern reaches,

Christmas is a very warm holiday.

It isn't presents that makes Christmas,

That's what the old folks will say.

The best Christmas for them,

It's only for them to say.

It isn't wealth that makes Christmas,

I'm sure poor folks would agree.

A hot meal, a warm bed,

That's all I need for me.

What is it then, that makes it special?

Its more than religion, since all can partake.

Its many things you must agree,

Including hens, grapes and pound cake.

So what is then, do I dare say.

Here is what it is, please prepare:

You can tell your neighbor you love him,

With hardly a stare.

You can smile at a stranger,

In stores and on the street.

You can stop for a moment, an hour,

With many that you meet.

Now that we know, lets agree on this:

Along with presents and red Santa Claus

Give thanks for your friends, find life,

And take a short pause.

Socks

I can't believe that they have this outdoor market open every day of the year, even in winter. It's up to maybe -5F this Sunday and I put on my lined coat, face mask and gloves. A few yards out the door of my apartment I start to feel the cold and realize I should have added long underwear and another pair of socks. Instead of retreating back I decide to rough it. Its about a mile to the trolley stop. I could have taken a taxi clear to the market but that would have been too easy. I want to see how the average citizen does it. Besides its more scenic this way. I also could have gone to a regular store and shopped inside where its warm. But the bazaar has multiple vendors, where if one vendor doesn't have it, the next one surely will. Everyone goes there.

I have to wait about ten minutes for the number 7 trolley to roll in. The locals have the timing down perfect. As each trolley rolls up, the people are getting there at the precise moment; no waiting at all. My hands and feet are getting cold, but that's why I'm here - to purchase woolen socks and glove liners.

The inside of the trolley isn't much warmer, except the seats! Each seat has an electric heater underneath it. My buns warm up nicely, but my feet continue to freeze against the steel floor of the trolley. We roll past the city park, where workers are busy putting together a massive winter display of trees, lights, ice and snow sculpture for the upcoming New Years celebration. This should be quite a sight when completed, and I will be sure to return and take pictures.

I arrive at the market after a fifteen minute trolley ride and immediately set about my business. The area with the most activity are the stalls where the old women sell their knitted shawls, socks and assorted warmers. I quickly find some thick woolen socks (really bootie socks) and purchase a pair my size for 180 rubles. I then proceed to find thin gloves to wear inside my regular ski gloves. At the first place I check the gloves are all too thick. The next place has some thinner ones but still a bit tight when I try them over my red and frozen hands (remember I'm standing outside the whole time while shopping). I think that's the best I'll find, so for 100 rubles, I decide to take them. I walk to the end of the bazaar to see if the peroshki lady is there. She makes them in her kitchen and sells them for 30 rubles while still hot. I usually eat one there and take a few home with me. Along with a bowl of soup, one makes a good dinner. Unfortunately the lady is not there. She either sold out, decided the homemade insulated cart she had wasn't going to keep them warm for long, or decided to retire to her sewing room for the winter (could I blame her?) I then head back for another pair of somewhat thinner wool socks which I can wear inside my boots over my cotton socks. "Skolka eta sto-it?" is the phrase for "how much?". "Schto", or 100 rubles, is the price. I pull a 100 ruble bill from my wallet and head back to the trolley stop. No waiting this time. Past city park, to my stop, and another 15 minute walk. Bursting in through the front door of my building, the floor lady asks me if its cold. I laugh. She asks if I like the Russian winters, and I laugh and say yes.

In my room, I turn on my little electric heater and proceed to warm up my new bootie socks in front of it. I get them on my feet over my cotton socks, then slip my feet into my slippers. The boys in the Gulag would probably have killed me for these socks.

Winter Has Arrived

I just got back from my December leave and I seem to have forgotten what winter was like in this part of the world. We had a brief cold snap while I was home in Colorado where the temperatures got below zero fahrenheit, and was snowbound in a blizzard in Lincoln, Nebraska for a couple of days, but when I stepped on the plane in Denver it was a balmy mid 40's. When I stepped off the plane in Nizhnekamsk we were at -31 Celsius which calculates out to minus 24 degrees fahrenheit. Its so cold every ounce of moisture is sucked out of the air and becomes ice fog, which is then deposited on every tree and available surface as a nice sugary frost coating. The ride from the airport wasn't all that pleasant either, since the van that was sent to pick us up had a 2-inch hole in the windshield and looked like it had been in a mortar attack. The springs and shocks were so frozen the driver had to hold his speed at around 30 miles per hour in fear he would break a spring or we would receive liver damage. By the time we got to our apartments our feet were all numb.

The temperature in the apartment probably hovers around 55. Cold concrete floors with a thin cover of linoleum except for the few places I have area rugs. My feet didn't thaw out for two days, after I went to the store and bought an electric heater and found enough blankets for my bed. We cannot turn up the heat in the apartments. That's controlled by the municipality, where the hot water is obtained from the local heating plant (see my earlier blog as to how this works). Anyway, Fluor has written a letter to the authorities pleading with them to please turn up the heat.

By the weekend it has warmed up to perhaps -10. This seems actually pleasant. The frosty coating starts to fall off the trees and power lines like fluffs of cotton. Actually very beautiful to watch. I will try to get to the (outdoor) market this weekend to pick up some more thick wool socks and some glove liners.

Footnote: I spent two winters in Alaska where I enjoyed minus 35 and also 4 winters in Kazakhstan where wind chills reached minus 80. But in those places at least I had a warm apartment.

Second footnote: Somehow, I see a slight change in the spirits of the Russian people. They smile more, actually make some eye contact when walking past, provide a cheerful greeting if they know you. I think they actually LOVE this weather.