how to survive a russian winter

Boots.

No seriously, just boots.

Okay, let me explain.  It's kind of cold here.  I say "kind of" not to be ironic, but rather as a sign of respect for my colleagues in the comparably-more-frozen swathes of this largest of countries.  We've been in more or less what I'd call "winter temperatures" for about five to six weeks.  It hasn't  been too bad, around 15-20 °F most days.  Then last week it dropped to an average high of around 0 °F.  That still isn't too bad, believe it or not, until you factor in the hurricane-strength gusts of wind that come constantly roaring in across the second largest lake in Europe.

And so I found myself wondering how I could possibly make myself warmer as I trudged home last night (really it was mid-afternoon, but the sun set at 3:19pm yesterday, so bear with me), haunted by the knowledge that I would have to leave the warm refuge of my apartment after painfully few hours to meet up with some friends.  I had already donned my silk base layer, my fleece sweatshirt, my thick woolly socks.  But I was still cold.  And then I remembered: my boots!

Let's back up.  Before coming to Russia, I wanted to get the best, warmest, waterproofest boots on the market.  The way it's always worked for me is, if my feet are cold, I'm cold.  If my feet are warm, I'm warm.  So I scoured the depths of the Internet and ordered what seemed like the perfect shoe: the Baffin Punisher.  Seven-layer insulation.  Ultra-modern metal lacing system.  Rated to -76 °F.  In a word: immaculate.  The only problem, as I figured out upon opening the box on arrival, was that the pictures of the shoe in all-white vacuum space online created a lack of proper perspective.  These boots are huge.  Like, practical joke big.  To give you that proper perspective which I originally lacked,  consider the following photographs, which show the boots next to my everyday walking shoes and a regulation size Pringles can:

Enter the Punisher.

I will admit to delaying using these bad boys longer than I should have because I was worried about the ridicule that was sure to come my way for strapping to Sherman tanks to my ankles.  And then I put them on.  It was as if my world had changed.  The sidewalk cleaners have really basic tools here, so for the past month all the walks have been covered with a packed down two inches of snow and ice.  Usually it makes walking a chore and adds a good 20-30% to my walk time.  But as soon as I stepped out in my behemoths, I could tell the difference.  I felt my pace quicken, even faster than on dry road.  These things on loosely-packed snow are like a Ferrari on pristine pavement; they eat it up.  

They make an ungodly sound too, like an angry rubber tire attacking a piece of Styrofoam.  As I walked out of my neighborhood toward the main drag, an old woman walking a good 20 yards in front of me actually turned around to survey what manner of fell beast was overtaking her.  At one point, a gust of wind blew a loose piece of plastic in my path, only to resoundingly crushed by the fall of my crashing steps.  It was like I was filming a commercial for these things.

But best of all, my feet.  They felt, to quote Tim Curry as Nigel St. Nigel, like they'd been "swaddled in a cocoon of cloud candy."  I actually had to downgrade to my regular strength athletic socks or else they get too warm.  Having seen the error of my ways, I shan't be caught gallivanting about in hiking shoes again!  At this point, I feel like I can finally understand the psychological appeal of owning a Hummer.  So do yourself a favor.  If you come to Russia in the winter, purchase some ridiculously ridiculous boots.  They might just save your life.  

Or cause an international incident.