{"id":3026,"date":"2021-01-22T11:41:51","date_gmt":"2021-01-22T11:41:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/expatkaliningrad.com\/?p=3026"},"modified":"2022-04-12T20:09:58","modified_gmt":"2022-04-12T18:09:58","slug":"it-always-snows-in-russia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/expatkaliningrad.com\/ru\/it-always-snows-in-russia\/","title":{"rendered":"It Always Snows in Russia!"},"content":{"rendered":"
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… and sometimes it doesn’t<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Published: 22 January 2021 ~ It always snows in Russia<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before moving here, whenever I mentioned to a fellow Brit that I was visiting Kaliningrad, I would be asked, \u201cWhere\u2019s that?\u201d As soon as I had educated them geographically, among the predictable responses based on prejudice and clich\u00e9, an old stalwart was, \u201cRussa! Brrr, it\u2019s cold out there \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Try as I might to explain to them that since Kaliningrad was the westernmost point of Russia the climate was not that much different to the UK\u2019s, the stock images of frozen rivers, ushanka hats, voluminous fur coats and, of course, snow ~ lots and lots of snow ~ proved impossible to shovel away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It always snows in Russia!<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

When I first came to Kaliningrad in winter 2000, there was snow, and lots of it (see Kaliningrad First Impression<\/a><\/em>), and I do recall seeing a tower-mounted digital thermometer somewhere in the city giving a temperature reading of minus 27 degrees. Harbouring the same stereotypical notions of Russia’s salient attributes, this first encounter pleased me no end, providing me with photographic evidence to confirm what Brits had always known, that Russia was cold and that it snowed a lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was more snow to Russify my experience when I travelled to Kaliningrad in 2002. We entered the exclave via Lithuania, where it was also snowing heavily, and the journey by train across the snow-bound wastelands was all that the heart could desire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This stereotype was to melt away, however, in the winter of 2004. This was the year that a new-found friend of ours looking for adventure and a woman, decided to accompany us on our Christmas trip to Kaliningrad. He knew that it was cold (it’s cold out there in Russia), and his knowledge had been bolstered by the tales that I had told and the photographs that I had shown him. He was excited, and set about preparing himself for Siberia, buying up large stocks of woolies, U.S. military surplus coats and the all-important long johns. His suitcases were fat and heavy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Who said that it always snows in Russia?<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Not disappointed, in the first three days of our arriving in Kaliningrad, the temperature had dropped well below those in the England we had left and, more importantly, there was snow, lots of swirling snow. And then, quiet suddenly, the mercury shot up the thermometer tube, the snow melted, the rain came, and it stayed that way for a month. As I believe I have said before, there is a world of difference between Kaliningrad in the winter rain and Kaliningrad in the snow. Those who live here will know what I mean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Last year, winter 2019-2020, was like everything else that year, miserable. It was, literally, wishy washy: a winter of muck and puddles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, how refreshing this winter to see some snow. It has not been that heavy, but it has been persistent and cold enough for successive falls to settle and to transform the city and regional landscape into a childhood memory of how winters used to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, but it\u2019s alright for me, or so my critics tell me. I don\u2019t have to go anywhere. I don\u2019t have to scrape the ice and snow off the car in the morning and then brave the roads on my way to work. On the contrary, I can sit at home, look out of the window and admire the Christmas-card view. And they are right. But I am unrepentant and remain that way. There have to be some advantages in getting starry<\/em>, and this is one of the few.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Come rain, snow, hail or shine my wife goes out whatever, and this is as it should be. Someone has to do the shopping. And she also has to obtain those much-needed photos for Arsebook, which I can then requisition and use here for my blog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Russia! It always snow there!<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

To bring things up to date, for the past several days or more it has been snowing lightly, and today, at the time of writing, it was at it again. Temperatures are low enough to ensure that what comes down stays put; just enough for picturesque, but not enough for concern.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This morning, the scene at the back of the house through the patio door was wonderful. It had snowed quite a lot during the night and the rooftops of the old German houses all had snow on them, some in total, some in places, and the fruit trees had become crystalline, petrified, the smaller branches and twigs very nearly pure white and the trunks and boughs though not completely covered with snow were artistically contrasted by what had collected upon them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our pear tree was the most wonderous thing. One side of the trunk was peppered with a white drift of snow and the rest, the smaller branches and twigs, coated into nobly clumps, so that taken as a whole it resembled a giant cauliflower. The rest of the garden had all but disappeared, replaced by a smooth white plateau, except for the Buddha, and he was wearing a snow-white hat in the unmistakeable shape of a British policeman\u2019s helmet. Wherever did he get it from?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Kaliningrad
No he is not a silly Buddha!<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Later, as I was stood in the kitchen making a cup of tea, my eyes caught movement and lots of it through the gap between two houses, which for most of the year is obscured by leaves and foliage. All I could see was different coloured objects darting hither and thither, and then it dawned on me that without the obstructing verdure the small park across the road was visible and what I was witnessing was the congregation of numerous families, mothers with their children, and that the different coloured objects, some zipping across the plateau and others sailing down the banks from every conceivable angle, were children on their sledges.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Children
Children on sledges, Kaliningrad, Russia, January 2021<\/strong><\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Olga, who walked through the city centre yesterday, said how delightful it was to see children with their parents playing snowballs and whooshing about on sledges. It was a good old-fashioned traditional family sight, and it reminded her of her youth. It reminded me of mine as well. Whenever there was snow, which became less and less frequent in England as the years rolled by, we children would hammer each other with snowballs. We also had a sledge, a one-of-its-kind made from the light alloy parts of a scrapped Flying Fortress, a B17 bomber, salvaged from Polebrook\u2019s United States\u2019 wartime aerodrome. What happened to this culturally interesting and nowadays valuable item? One of my brothers, with considerably less acumen than myself for the singularity of historical artefacts, deciding that he would clean out one of the family barns after a forty-year hiatus, skipped the sledge and kept the junk. Oh, don\u2019t worry, we take every opportunity to remind him of his folly, in no uncertain terms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the kitchen to the living room, looking out of the window at the Konigsberg house opposite that has never had anything done to it at least since perestroika, I noted that the two toilets lying in the back garden ~ where else? ~  had become snow toilets, a rare sight indeed, but not as exclusive or controversial as the giant phallus, complete with two enormous snowballs, that some imaginative and enterprising young men would erect a day or two later somewhere in Kaliningrad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This made the news, and, of course, Facebook. Personally, we had a bit of fun with this, by which I mean we conducted an experiment. Olga posted the media story to Facebook, and then we sat back ready to compare the different reactions from Russian commentators and those in Britland. As we anticipated, the Russian response was one of condemnation and disgust, whilst the Brits reacted in a flamboyant spirit that ranged from artistic criticism to unbridled glee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Me? I just felt sorry for the virtue of virgin snow, but I consoled myself with the thought that outside of our circle something like this would never be condoned in the UK for fear that it would offend the delicate sensibilities of feminists, race-grievance wardens and the entire woke community: a giant phallus made of snow! Sexist! Racist!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Snowballs!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

  • \"Snow<\/li>
  • \"Fozen<\/li>
  • \"Olga<\/li>
  • \"Inflatable<\/li>
  • \"Snow<\/li>
  • \"It<\/li>
  • \"It<\/li><\/ul><\/div>