zima

No, it's not just a wine cooler for teenage girls--shout out to Jam if she's reading this--but also the Russian word for "winter." And it's arrived with a fury. It's snowed for three nights straight, and for a good part of three days.

There's a unique summer vibe in this part of the world, but winter is also distinctive, and brings its own joys and annoyances. The snow is gorgeous on top of the gold-domed churches. Even better, people really get into winter here--it's so long, they have to. Fur, hats, and over-the-top accessorizing makes for great people watching. I've joined the crowd, and purchased a ridiculous coat this weekend. Pictures to follow once it's back from the tailor. We now have more than 15 hours of darkness a day, which is driving me slightly batty, but at the same time, it's nice to cozy up and relax in bed, feeling that there's no reason to venture out onto the cold street anyway. I've run out of English-language reading material, but I've discovered that printing out old New Yorker articles and reading them at night is more fun than you might think! Last night I read this fabulous, long essay about Getrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas in Vichy France.

Some of the drawbacks:
-Sludge and trudge: As in New Haven, no one shovels their walks here. This is the land before tort law, after all. During the day, sidewalks become a muddy mess, and subway and bus entraces are covered with about an inch of muddy water. It's gross. The other danger is that the sludge re-freezes at night, meaning that the sheet of ice covering the sidewalk gets thicker and thicker every day. I almost slipped twice this morning (with laptop in tow). It's only a matter of time before I go flying, and I hope when it happens, it's not under the wheels of a car, into a mud pit, or on top of my computer!
-No rest for the weary: Unfortunately, people here widely believe an old wives' tale that says that sitting on cold surfaces makes women infertile. This means that marble benches are always off-limits; and in the winter, it means you can't sit outside at all--unless you want to be confronted by the fertility police, which is comprised of masses of aggressive babushki with canes. Back in Yalta, I was feeling either brave or tired, and dared to perch on a marble bench outside a palace. Within a few minutes, I was confronted by a throng of grandmas. "Such a shame," they yelled. "You could have had lots of beautiful blonde babies, but now your ovaries are frozen." So now, I keep walking.