When I became visibly sad and homesick Nastya sometimes took me out to eat somewhere nice. Although the majority of contemporary cafés in Siberia didn’t agree with me, there were a few that did; especially ones that sold pizza. Yes, who would have thought that Siberians actually knew a lot about pizza? With the inevitable invasion of American fast food chains following the collapse of the USSR, some Russian businesspersons come up with the idea of starting their own fast food chains; and while the majority of these sell poor excuses for food, there are some that do manage to successfully pull off the fast food experience. It’s something I wish I had known during my first couple of visits. There are a few other food products made in Russia that were a total surprise. Firstly, they make great ice cream. There was a time in my life I would have said nothing could beat Thayers of Cardiff but – since they appear to have changed their formula – their ice cream is easily eclipsed by their Russian counterpart. Another surprisingly well-made product in Russia is chocolate. Russians are masters at it, and I say this as a self-confessed chocaholic. In any one of the supermarkets and even some of the smaller shops there are shelves upon shelves full to the brim of different types of chocolate bars and candies. There are so many in fact that I have never managed to buy the same one twice; I want to try them all.
When we weren’t at the dacha, Nastya and I sometimes drank a beer in the park near our apartment. This is a common thing to do and the militia don’t seem to mind. When it got a bit chilly towards the evening, there was one other place we could go if we felt it was too early to go home. Some of the smaller grocery stores in Krasnoyarsk are slightly unusual in that they don’t have cages in them. They are rare but you can find them if you look. In order to survive previous economic meltdowns some of these shops adapted themselves to become bars. I only saw one all summer. It was long rather than wide with a counter running its entire length. Behind this counter were the usual shelves of goods and a shop assistant, but right at the very end were a few stools with shabby, drunken men leaning on the counter. In this place, fellas would come to drown their sorrows over beer that is considerably cheaper than that sold in pubs, because it’s still sold at shop prices. The assistant simply removes the bottle top and offers you a stool. We never joined them; but we did buy a beer there to walk home with.
When we were feeling adventurous, we caught a bus to the city centre to visit one of Krasnoyarsk’s islands. There are several islands in the Yenisei, the largest of which are Tatysheva and Otdyha Isles. While Otdyha is big enough to house the city stadium as well as a host of other buildings, it is Tatysheva that is often the most visited. Being over twice the size of Otdyha, Tatysheva has become Krasnoyarsk’s adventure and exercise island. It has several paths running round its perimeter and through its centre, making it the perfect place to cycle, rollerblade or run. I would say it is probably the only place as Russian roads are chaos. Tatysheva joins the mainland on the north side of the river via a long footbridge which connects directly with Prospekt Mira, Krasnoyarsk’s main street. On the mainland side of the bridge there are usually mountain bike and rollerblade rental services in summer, plus a few shashliks stalls in case you get hungry. On the island itself there are also outdoor weights and permanent outdoor gym equipment for those who prefer the outdoors to the gym. These facilities are free to use, but they tend to attract well-sculpted men who want to show off their bodies to hot young female things as they rollerblade by.
The island is so big that Nastya and I have only seen the western side of it. To get to the east we would need either to approach it from the eastern bridge or rent a bike. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say the entire city centre would just about fit on Tatysheva with perhaps room enough for Wales and the Titanic.
When crossing the bridge to the island in summer, Nastya and I would often be separated by joggers and cyclists, or small children playing. In accordance with Russian superstition when we met again, after being split up for only a second, we had to greet each other repeatedly. This tended to slow down progress, which is perhaps another reason why we have only seen the western side of the island. As well as this, Nastya developed a habit of hugging me every two minutes. This became known as ‘Hugs Time’. Whenever Nastya said this phrase I knew it was time to stop and be squeezed. At first, Hugs Time was quite an annoying concept, as I’m not the most touchy-feely kind of guy and I’m a big fan of walking and exploring, but I got used to it. I think my marriage depended on my getting used to it. Hugs Time is a product of Siberians’ heightened sense of romanticism, that I’m sure is already quite well known. I remember watching an episode of Sex and the City with my mum one time where the Carrie character dated a Russian bloke who brought too many flowers and liked to hug a lot; she eventually dumped him because of it. The only other Siberian gesture that seemed a bit odd to me was handshaking. In the UK, I have always been accustomed to handshaking at the beginning and end of first meeting someone and occasionally when you see your friends after a prolonged period of separation. In Siberia, men shake hands every time they meet, even if they saw each other only yesterday; and even if they see each other every single day of the year. I’ve never known anywhere where people are so fond of shaking hands. Although I have not visited every country on Earth, I suspect Siberia is the handshaking capital of the world, which goes to show there is a perfect place for everyone. Growing up in Cardiff everyone knew ‘shaky-hands-man’, a fella who simply liked to shake hands all day with anyone and everyone on the street, until he died a few years ago. Had he lived in Russia he wouldn’t have seemed so odd and out of place. How terrible for him that he was simply born in the wrong country.
b. Aeroflot Flight SU2578. August 25th 2012. Moscow – London
It was my last flight out of Russia, well I was ninety per cent sure that it would be anyway. One certificate was all that stood in my way. After saying goodbye to Masha in Moscow I thought of how lucky it had been that she had visited Krasnoyarsk over the summer and had to leave at the exact same date as me. I took this to mean that there was some sort of synchronicity taking place in my life. The Gods were with me, even if I didn’t believe in them. Sat on the left-hand side of the plane, with a view of the wing, I was anxious. This wasn’t due to anything plane related, or anything related to immigration stuff either. I was worried about re-entering the UK because I was expecting to hear even more anti-Russian sentiments from some of my friends since the last time I had seen them due to two highly publicised events that had taken place in August.
On August 15th, an Akula-class Russian attack submarine was reported to have spent several weeks off the Gulf of Mexico in June and July, with the Americans apparently only becoming aware well after it had left. The Pentagon promptly denied these reports the following day but it was too late, by the afternoon most major Western news agencies had run the story. While this was embarrassing for the US authorities as well as a small victory for Vladimir Putin, it caused unnecessary strain in US-Russian relations and bolstered the negative Russian stereotype at a time when Russia could have done without it. On August 16th, three members of the punk-pop group Pussy Riot were sentenced to two years in prison. This was immediately followed by a glut of anti-Russian propaganda. While I sided with the calls for Pussy Riot’s release and fully supported the many online petitions requesting this, what I couldn’t condone was the hype being used to make Russia look like some archaic Soviet hellhole. One online petition on Watchdog.com was titled ‘Don’t let Pussy Riot die in prison’ and really offended me for several reasons. Firstly the title – not one of the three convicted members were sentenced to anything longer than two years in prison. Secondly it said ‘The prisons in Perm and Mordovia are some of the harshest camps in all Russia, known for severely unhealthy conditions, a complete absence of privacy and a brutal social hierarchy where convicts are subject to abuse and sexual violence by prison guards.’ I found myself asking which prison systems do not have unhealthy conditions? And in which prisons do people not get violated regularly? Which prisons do not have a brutal social hierarchy?