General Winter

The Russians have long relied on the ice and snow as a military strategy. Napoleon and Hitler’s problems are only the most recent examples of a heritage that stretches at least as far back as Alexander Nevsky’s battle with the Teutonic Knights – when the heavily armored germans cracked through the ice of a lake and drowned in mid battle. Now, I may come to regret this in short order, but so far this year “General Winter” has turned out to be a paper tiger.

There certainly hasn’t been any lack of snow in Moscow. It seems most days are overcast and likely to provide at least some flurry activity. In fact, 10-day forecasts are usually just a string of clouds and snowflakes in the newspaper. But the variable so far has been the temperature. Snow accumulates at night and then melts off significantly, and messily, during the day.

Of course, I come from the snow belt and I’m no stranger to sudden, massive accumulations of snow. But my frame of reference for city life is Manhattan. And in New York City, a minor squall can cause all sorts of havoc. Mass transit malfunctions, people stay home, garbage collection is suspended since garbage trucks are also the snow plowing trucks. In that context, then, it’s a little bit weird for me to see a massive city continuing to operate at breakneck speed in what would be a crippling snowstorm back home. Maybe this is what life is like in Minneapolis or Chicago?

Now, that being said, there have been a couple of brief, brutal cold snaps here. And that has been the most interesting part of winter so far. Those are the times that Moscow shows you exactly how it deals with the weather. Or that is to say, comes close to completely ignoring it.

The Arbat, Moscow’s main pedestrian street, is lined with souvenir stalls and artists who draw portraits and caricatures. This weekend, they sat in the same places, bundled up, next to samples of their artistic wares. Snow piled on top of them at a furious pace. Patrons getting their portraits drawn sat quietly and patiently as snow piled up on top of them, too. Occasionally, the artist got up and brushed the snow off himself and his subject, and then off his plastic-covered samples.

In good weather, Muscovites sit on the park benches much like they would their own sofas. Friends crowd around, they all have a few beers, and in general the outdoors becomes the preferred social space for a city of apartment dwellers. In the winter, the groups of people congregate in the underground pedestrian passages instead. Cigarette smoke lingers in the low-ceilinged passageway and voices bounce noisily off the tile and cement.

Most wonderfully of all, all the ice cream stands remain open. People stroll leisurely down the street with cold beers in hand. At some point, they'll squint at each other through the snow flakes, take off their gloves to look for change in the pockets of their heavy coats, and say to one another - I could really go for some ice cream right now. Then they'll climb over a little snowbank to get to the kiosk.

So now I’ve probably doomed myself to several months of teeth-cracking cold weather, but in all I thought it was worth saying that winter hasn’t been nearly as bad as I had feared.