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Published: February 7th 2006
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I didn't know what type of day out Katya and her father had planned, but I hoped it would be worth getting up in the dark at 7 for. They picked me up outside my building at 8 and we drove for three hours - in Oleg Viktorovich's very expensive and very comfortable car - to his friend's village, 60 kilometres from Rybinsk.
The journey itself was memorable. Katya slept on my shoulder for most of the way so I had time to admire the scenery of Yaroslavskaya province. The roads were lined with pine trees, covered in thick snow and seemingly frozen. The sun hadn't risen so everything was still, white and grey in the dawn light. I took in everything to the sound of classic Soviet music: a man growling thoughtful lyrics and playing acoustic guitar, which set the peaceful tone perfectly. Half way to Poshekhon'e they explained that there was a surprise waiting for me, and assured me that it was a good one. My first guess, judging by the twinkle in their eyes, was that we were all going to jump into a hole in a frozen lake as I had seen as a child on
Blue Peter; but apparently that is not until January 19th.
We arrived at the village and everyone hugged and shook hands, leaving me a bit left out. The couple, Sasha and Natasha, took us into the kitchen and made us all a cup of tea of coffee to go with our chocolate cake. They live in a big cabin, that is simple on the outside but very warm and beautifully decorated on the inside. Everyone apart from me had a chat for half an hour, told Katya how much she had grown and how pretty she had become, then the men went off to kill a sheep. I offered to help them, but the Russians are very proud of their villages and don't want to believe that an English boy could have grown up in similar surroundings. While they were gone Katya helped Sasha and Natasha's daughter Zhenya with her maths homework. It was impressive that and eleven year old was working on a sunday morning, even more impressive that it was maths that was too hard for me! My Russian had woken up by then so I chatted to Natasha in the kitchen while she made soup on
the stove, about the English seasons and our school system. She told me that I was welcome to come to visit again, especially if I fancied teaching English at the local school.
We drove to Oleg Viktorovich's cottage two kilometres away and had another cup of coffee. It's where he stays when he goes fishing or hunting. It was very similar to the other cabin, with wooden floorboards and just a bedroom and a kitchen. He told me of the day he and a friend took their boat onto the lake, and fished at minus 40. When we finished our drinks I was told to change into a thick pair of knee-length boots, big blue dungarees and a fur-lined jacket and to put my woolly hat on. Katya did the same, and jumped outside to show me their surprise. Just then, Sasha came round the corner.
Driving a snow buggy!
It was a petrol powered machine, like a jet-ski but designed for snow, towing a sleigh behind it with a black gymnastics crash mat tucked inside. Katya climbed in first, I sat behind her then we layed down bobsleigh style as Sasha drove us around the roads
of Poshekhon'e as fast as he could. The thermometer on the fence of the cabin read minus 16, the wind in our faces hurt but we were screaming too much to notice.
When we got to a straight stretch of road Katya begged to be allowed to drive it herself. She has obviously got her grandad Sash as wrapped around her little finger as her dad and myself are! We shared the front seat with her steering and we pulled Sasha back to the cabin.
In the hour that we were away Mr Mankov had hacked the sheep to pieces on the garden table, and put it into freezer bags ready for the family New Year barbecue. Some was left for lunch which seemed as good a time as any to tell him I didn't eat lamb. He had some beef in the fridge, so while he made our meals Katya took us on our own on the snow buggy on a lap of the fields. That is, until she crashed it into a tree.
We went on foot from there, across a frozen lake that was knee deep in snow, talking about family photos and Irish music. Everything around us as far as we could see was white, apart from a dark red church on the top of a small hill. I have learned so much about Russian life and culture from her.
When we got back lunch still wasn't ready, so we played with next door's little dog in the garden and had a wrestling match in the snow.
Oleg Viktorovich cooks as well as his wife. We had bowls of lamb or beef with boiled rice, Russian black bread and hot strong coffee to help us warm up. And I couldn't escape the vodka this time! At 5 o'clock, tired and bright red from the cold, we drove home. Katya fell asleep on my shoulder again, so I admired the beautiful countryside, and realised that philosophical Soviet rock music compliments Yaroslavskaya province at dusk as well as dawn.
When we arrived home I was exhausted, but happily so. I shook Oleg Viktorovich's hand and said thankyou, quickly kissed Katya while he wasn't looking and went back to the flat. Marina Ivanovna greeted me with "there is no hot water", which at minus 12 is the last thing I wanted to hear. I asked her when it would be back on and she said she didn't know. How pathetic that she should say "I don't know" and then translate it for my benefit, in case I didn't understand. What had I been doing today?
In the context of the day it wasn't important. Russia with good weather and good company will always be worth swapping a lie-in for.
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