The streets of Ukhta look different than they did one month ago.
A month ago, I was surprised by all the activity on Lenin Prospect (the main street in Ukhta and, for that matter, the name of the main street in many other Russian towns). Marshrutkas (the vans with a large number and a list of destinations taped on the window that usually shuttle people around town) along with larger buses lined the streets, one after another. In the spirit of International Women's Day (or in the spirit of earning money on Women's Day), the vehicles had been converted: instead of carrying people, they now carried flowers. The owners kept the engines of their new flower shops running to keep the plants looking lively and called out to the pedestrians to attract them inside.
Those buses left after Women's Day, making more space for the sellers who are regularly on the side of that road: Solo sellers with tables or without, buckets of potatoes, open boxes of dried fish, jars of assorted berries, packets of honey, pairs of pimi (deerskin boats) and valenki (felt boots), handmade woolen scarfs, mittens and socks and most recently a table full of vegetable and flower seeds. A truck usually stands there also, a man inside selling milk products from a small rectangular whole in the back. Also, there's a trailer that converts into a well-lit stand for cheese, meats, butters and some pastries. I have only bought four things from these street sellers these last seven months: cranberries in a jar to make cranberry sauce on Thanksgiving day; one pair of very thick, large woolen socks; a white woven scarf; and some sweet pastries with tvorog (that cottage-cheese stuff I've mentioned before) inside.
The week of Women's Day, other people were also making themselves known on the main street and around town. Russia's regional elections took place on March 13th, and the lead up to this voting day looked like the Russian flag - strips of white, blue and red - flying over a bear: the symbol of Russia's main political party. People supporting the party were on the streets handing out information, billboards were pasted with the portraits of supporters around town. The largest poster hung on the side of one apartment building on the main street, sporting a huge portrait of Prime Minister Putin. Even an ice sculpture of the party's bear still stood from before New Year's in the iceland in front of one of the shopping centers in town. Now, a month later, most of the signs and fliers have been taken down, the ice has melted and not many people are talking about politics with me.
Yes, the ice has melted. Mostly. Right after I realized I was quickly nearing my five-month anniversary of wearing my long and thick down coat, I took it off and realized the seasons were changing. A week and a half ago, we were still ice skating on the rinks. Now, that's impossible. (An indoor ice-skating rink is currently being built in town, but for now, the sport is still seasonal in Ukhta). During the winter, I even saw kids ice skating on the sidewalks, because, in reality, their was a sheet of ice covering the entire town, roads included. But, that's gone now. And, this change happened pretty fast, making Ukhta feel like a huge science experiment on the properties of water. We went from frozen, to slush, to flood, to walkable but still hopping some puddles and dodging some mud patches within the last 10 days of daytime-above-freezing temperatures.
Last week, my dormitory turned into a castle, difficult to get to because of the surrounding moat. And, I'm not even joking. Getting to class one morning was an obstacle course: 1. exit the 12 doors to the street; 2. look down so as not to get water falling from the roof in your eyes; 3. find the longest peninsula of land to hop across the moat; 4. look up to make sure the remaining snow pile on that steep roof will not fall on your head; 5. step through the slushy parts so as not to walk straight through the puddles; 6. grab ahold of the birch tree branches while balancing on the icy curb to cross that long puddle in front of Building L; 7. hope for the best (meaning dry feet). The next day walking to school was much easier. I just put on my tall rain boots, and off I went, teaching shoes under my arm, trudging right through the puddles. This seemed to be a popular solution in town, especially with the newly fashionable rain boots with heels. Those without rain boots, though, have either had to be creative or have stayed inside this whole time.
Now, there's a sign hanging in the dormitory--"Subotnik" (субботник)--calling for community cleanup. Subotnik refers to unpaid community work on Saturdays that was common in the Soviet Union. The students are required (but in no regulated way, I think) to go outside and help clean up around the university housing. The last few days I've seen them moving the piles of snow around in an effort to spread it thin and make it melt.
Spring is here.
A month ago, I was surprised by all the activity on Lenin Prospect (the main street in Ukhta and, for that matter, the name of the main street in many other Russian towns). Marshrutkas (the vans with a large number and a list of destinations taped on the window that usually shuttle people around town) along with larger buses lined the streets, one after another. In the spirit of International Women's Day (or in the spirit of earning money on Women's Day), the vehicles had been converted: instead of carrying people, they now carried flowers. The owners kept the engines of their new flower shops running to keep the plants looking lively and called out to the pedestrians to attract them inside.
Those buses left after Women's Day, making more space for the sellers who are regularly on the side of that road: Solo sellers with tables or without, buckets of potatoes, open boxes of dried fish, jars of assorted berries, packets of honey, pairs of pimi (deerskin boats) and valenki (felt boots), handmade woolen scarfs, mittens and socks and most recently a table full of vegetable and flower seeds. A truck usually stands there also, a man inside selling milk products from a small rectangular whole in the back. Also, there's a trailer that converts into a well-lit stand for cheese, meats, butters and some pastries. I have only bought four things from these street sellers these last seven months: cranberries in a jar to make cranberry sauce on Thanksgiving day; one pair of very thick, large woolen socks; a white woven scarf; and some sweet pastries with tvorog (that cottage-cheese stuff I've mentioned before) inside.
The week of Women's Day, other people were also making themselves known on the main street and around town. Russia's regional elections took place on March 13th, and the lead up to this voting day looked like the Russian flag - strips of white, blue and red - flying over a bear: the symbol of Russia's main political party. People supporting the party were on the streets handing out information, billboards were pasted with the portraits of supporters around town. The largest poster hung on the side of one apartment building on the main street, sporting a huge portrait of Prime Minister Putin. Even an ice sculpture of the party's bear still stood from before New Year's in the iceland in front of one of the shopping centers in town. Now, a month later, most of the signs and fliers have been taken down, the ice has melted and not many people are talking about politics with me.
Yes, the ice has melted. Mostly. Right after I realized I was quickly nearing my five-month anniversary of wearing my long and thick down coat, I took it off and realized the seasons were changing. A week and a half ago, we were still ice skating on the rinks. Now, that's impossible. (An indoor ice-skating rink is currently being built in town, but for now, the sport is still seasonal in Ukhta). During the winter, I even saw kids ice skating on the sidewalks, because, in reality, their was a sheet of ice covering the entire town, roads included. But, that's gone now. And, this change happened pretty fast, making Ukhta feel like a huge science experiment on the properties of water. We went from frozen, to slush, to flood, to walkable but still hopping some puddles and dodging some mud patches within the last 10 days of daytime-above-freezing temperatures.
Last week, my dormitory turned into a castle, difficult to get to because of the surrounding moat. And, I'm not even joking. Getting to class one morning was an obstacle course: 1. exit the 12 doors to the street; 2. look down so as not to get water falling from the roof in your eyes; 3. find the longest peninsula of land to hop across the moat; 4. look up to make sure the remaining snow pile on that steep roof will not fall on your head; 5. step through the slushy parts so as not to walk straight through the puddles; 6. grab ahold of the birch tree branches while balancing on the icy curb to cross that long puddle in front of Building L; 7. hope for the best (meaning dry feet). The next day walking to school was much easier. I just put on my tall rain boots, and off I went, teaching shoes under my arm, trudging right through the puddles. This seemed to be a popular solution in town, especially with the newly fashionable rain boots with heels. Those without rain boots, though, have either had to be creative or have stayed inside this whole time.
Now, there's a sign hanging in the dormitory--"Subotnik" (субботник)--calling for community cleanup. Subotnik refers to unpaid community work on Saturdays that was common in the Soviet Union. The students are required (but in no regulated way, I think) to go outside and help clean up around the university housing. The last few days I've seen them moving the piles of snow around in an effort to spread it thin and make it melt.
Spring is here.
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