No wonder the Germans couldn't invade
Russia in World War II. The largest country in the world, in the far north of Europe and Asia, is naturally protected by snow, ice, and freezing temperatures. It has the earth's coldest towns, where
Siberian natives live through winters so harsh that car engines can't start and breath is instantly frozen into crystals. Ice coats sidewalks, creating what I called "Russian mine fields." I had to attach metal chains to my boots just to navigate my way safely to the corner bus stop. I taught English in a twelve-story, Soviet-style apartment building around which blizzard winds and snow drifts howled like an epic
Russian phantom. Other massive apartment buildings cluttered the landscape beside highways and bridges. Many bars drew customers with vodka, but cafes serving hot tea were often absent.
When I wasn't teaching, I would explore the city streets of
Samara and take photos of Lenin statues, communist war memorials, old opera houses, ice gardens, and Russian Orthodox churches. Russians huddled miserably in their long, hooded coats. They smoked cigarettes for a little warmth while waiting for buses. They rarely smiled at me, a friendly Californian who missed sunlight, flowers, and barbecues at the beach. They lived on salty, dried fish and caviar with fresh vegetables or fruit seldom added.
I hiked for miles beside the
Volga River, Europe's longest, that froze so solid people not only walked a mile across it—but also drove vehicles. Every year, as the current flows swiftly beneath the ice, snow mobiles crack through and are pulled downward, the bodies of their riders washed miles down the river and not found until the ice melts in springtime. Russians, used to their winters, are quick to clear major roadways so that people can commute, but in the worst snow storms, the lesser streets have to wait days to be freed from their high snowdrifts.
Just to go outside required several minutes of dressing in layers, topped by a scarf, faux fur coat and hat, mittens, and tall boots (with their sole chains). But for all the hassle, coldness of the weather and people, and fishy food, Russia was beautiful in winter. Snow covered everything in a veil of white. Walking down paths bordered by fir trees was like stepping into Narnia. Snow falling on the city looked like diamonds in a light confetti, a treasure free for everyone, landing temporarily on upturned faces.
For months I did not see leaves on trees. The April day I left Samara on the train to Moscow, snow fell. Ice coated the Moscow runway when my plane ascended toward a Turkish
spring. Glad as I was to find flowers and sunlight again, I could not forget my lonely but lovely Russian winter and the paths I found across the snow.
Buses and cars on the cleared snowy streets of Samara
A bird perches atop a statue of Lenin in Samara
An ice garden by the Samara opera house
The ice garden glistens near Christmas lights
An outdoor ice rink near the ice garden
Walkway along the frozen Volga River
People cross back across the frozen Volga River toward Samara
Mist over the frozen Volga River near the city of Samara
Try walking up these steps toward the Freedom Statue at Samara's famous plaza
The snowy hill, often used for sledding, that leads to a Russian Orthodox church
A Russian Orthodox church in snowy Samara
Walking through the tree-lined city park was like stepping into Narnia
A solitary pathway across the snowy Volga River
