Sunbathing in Siberia (11 page)

Water is also a big deal in Russia. I suffer from psoriasis, one of the ugliest of skin diseases. This autoimmune disorder is incurable, although cortisones and creams with a high steroid content can keep it at bay. During the winter of 2010, my psoriasis erupted, and turned from a small patch of blisters on my chest to a patch of red that covered 90 per cent of me. With my skin peeling from my face, I looked more like a burns victim. In fact, many of my friends asked if I had been in a fire. Before the arrival of summer in 2011, I had managed to soften most of the effects using steroid creams, although this is only a short-term fix. The closest thing to a cure is a high dosage of – or a prolonged exposure to – UV rays.

In February 2011, I was referred to a specialist in the NHS who recommended I volunteer myself for what is known as ‘light therapy'. This involves being zapped by a shockingly powerful sunbed several times a week over a three-month period. Light therapy is an extreme measure and so one is only allowed a relatively low number of five-minute exposures in a lifetime. Having had psoriasis since I was twenty-three, and knowing that the sun is one giant source of UV, I decided to opt out of my hospital treatment and go sunbathing instead. Controlled and regulated sunbathing is a method I had used before in the UK, only with my condition so bad I needed a warmer climate. This is why I chose to spend as much of July as I could sunbathing at the dacha. Nastya however didn't believe any of this, and thought the only possible way for me to be cured would be a trip to some ‘magic lake' with healing minerals. Either this or rubbing my skin with some kind of oily cloth; the oil would be magic of course. While rubbing oil or moisturiser into dry psoriasis skin can rejuvenate it for a day, it is no cure. As a compromise, I alternated sunbathing on the lawn outside the dacha with swimming in a lake close by. The sun did its job and burned off the majority of my psoriasis skin, leaving me slightly pink and a little tanned. Although Nastya saw the effects of my methods, she still insisted on knowing better. Having had my disease for many years, and having tried every possible cure going, from NHS-recommended creams to the very ridiculous series of magnets worn on the wrist, there was nobody who knew how to deal with psoriasis better than me. Being told everything I knew was somehow wrong and that I could be ‘cured' by magic was rather hurtful.

In some parts of Russia there is still a belief that natural cures are more powerful than modern medicine. I know that most modern pain relievers and anaesthetics are synthetic versions of real herbs designed to emulate the effect of natural healing qualities found in plants. I can't argue against those who believe in natural remedies – I was, after all, temporarily healed by the sun – however, I think that relying purely on alternative medicine can be detrimental to one's health. For instance, early in July Nastya was taken to hospital suffering abdominal pain, and was informed that she had a small kidney stone that needed to be operated on. Instead of accepting this and having the small operation required, Nastya, who is highly influenced by Boris, decided to take her problem to a Chinese herbalist who prescribed all sorts of fluids and pills created from natural herbs. Regardless of continued discomfort, she was adamant that the herbs she had ingested would work over a long period of time, when in fact we had no proof that they were doing anything at all.

Several years before, while out looking for deer, Boris was bitten by a Siberian grass tick and consequently spent a month in hospital. Since his release, Boris has suffered from occasional erratic behaviour, and mood swings, which are all attributed to tick-borne encephalitis. As a result he became quite paranoid with regard to his and everyone else's health. As well as seeing a trained doctor, Boris also visits a Chinese herbalist at least once a month and each time he returns he is convinced that he has a new family of worms inside him. Nastya and I both agree that the damage caused by the bug bite is allowing him to be exploited, and yet she herself refused to see a trained medical professional with her kidney stone.

Nastya is so highly influenced by what I refer to as ‘mumbo jumbo' it occasionally puts a strain on our relationship. While out walking somewhere, Nastya is convinced that we pick up ‘microbes' (pronounced meek-robes). These microbes are apparently evil and stick to your shoes and your trousers when you're out and about. When I came home, if I wore the same trousers while sitting down on a chair or the bed, Nastya would shout ‘Now you have infected that with meekrobes.' I don't see the logic in it. If I take off my jeans and hang them on the back of the chair, the chair is then infected, which will infect the floor, anything that walks on the floor, and eventually the bed. There was a similar instance in Paris where Nastya said she couldn't sit on the stone wall next to the Seine with me because ‘If a woman sits on stone she gets ill in her ladyparts.' I'm not sure if that is true or not, but there were several other couples sat on that stone wall in Paris that seemed to be just fine. Though Nastya loves romance, her weird and wonderful belief system can often kill the moment.

Domovoi

Another thing we should have probably discussed before getting married was Nastya's belief in little men, or little, invisible, bearded men to be more precise. The domovoi is a small man who Nastya and many other Russians believe lives in one's apartment or dacha. Although it is said to be a house spirit of sorts, Nastya, among others, claims to have ‘seen him.' Apparently domovoi are always male, about a foot tall, have long beards or are totally covered in hair, like Dougal from
The Magic Roundabout
; though I prefer to think of domovoi as being like the goblins from Jim Henson's film
Labyrinth
. Partly because I love David Bowie, and if domovoi are real, I'd like them to be like Hoggle, the dwarf who led Sarah into the labyrinth; even though Sarah was a girl, when I was young I very much wanted to be in her shoes so I could get to see David Bowie dance his
Magic Dance
.

Traditionally, every home is said to have its domovoi, although according to Nastya, domovoi only live in good houses or apartments. To quote Nastya directly: ‘He turns off taps if you leave them on when you go out, and if he doesn't turn off the tap he will do something by magic which makes you remember, like send you a cosmic mental signal. Many relatives have seen him. He is white, very hairy, and has a long nose.'

Domovoi are often held responsible for items in the home being mislaid or lost. Some believe he simply likes to play tricks on people, while others believe that he is angered by messiness and/or foul language. This would explain why only Nastya's things go missing. She often leaves unwashed dishes in the bedroom and has a habit of carpeting the floor every morning with clothes from the wardrobe. Nastya also has a terrible habit of losing earrings. With the exception of a pair we bought in Paris, she seems incapable of owning a complete pair for more than a day. Usually after looking for the missing earring for five minutes, Nastya would blame its absence on domovoi. If you suspect that your stuff has been stolen by domovoi it is said that if you ask for it back aloud, he will magically return what you've been looking for, usually in a place you've already looked. According to Nastya, it helps if you leave out a bowl of something sweet. Nastya very much believes in this. In fact, many Siberians I've spoken to believe that domovoi are as real as the words you see before you. Some say he likes to do the washing up when everyone is asleep, while others say he lives behind the oven or at the back of the wardrobe, and comes out at night to see you've swept the floor properly. One person even told me that they had woken one night to find a domovoi sat on their chest and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't lift their arms to push him away. I've actually heard other stories similar to that one, which is disturbing. If I woke to find some malevolent bearded goblin sat on my chest, and I had lost all strength in my arms, I'd probably leave Russia at the first available opportunity.

While this all sounds like complete and utter madness, you must remember that to many Russians the domovoi are part of real life. Though some laugh at the idea of house spirits, my mother-in-law being one of them, they still attribute the safe return of some item (that may have been lost) to a supernatural power; if not domovoi, then something equally magic. After all, missing keys don't return themselves. While I am not entirely convinced by the existence of domovoi, my love for Jim Henson films and the fact I went to see
The Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring
in the cinema six times (seven if you count
The Lord of the Rings
cinema marathon in 2003) makes it an easier superstition to accept, and even enjoy. There is sweetness to it, and though it may be totally bonkers to believe in little men who live in the wardrobe and who love to wash the dishes, people have believed in way more far-fetched ideas. For instance, some people believe a bearded man in the sky decided to make the earth in seven days, apparently for no good reason at all. Perhaps when he was casting humans in his big holy Plaster of Paris moulds, he made a few domovoi as practice runs. Who knows?

Aeroflot Flight SU247. August 17
th
2011.
Moscow – London

Just as she had in the spring, Nastya accompanied me to Moscow. This was unnecessary as I had a connecting flight to London in the evening but again we didn't know when I would next return to Russia. We arrived in Moscow at around 11 a.m., leaving us only seven hours before I had to be back at the airport. It was horrendously hot, so instead of running around the city trying to see the touristy things we had missed previously we headed straight for one of Moscow's parks. Moscow is actually one of the greenest capitals in the world with over a hundred parks to choose from. We chose Kolomenskoye Park, which is full of old white church buildings and ancient archways. It used to be royal estate and covers a 390-hectare area that overlooks the steep banks of the Moskva River.

Near one of the modern outdoor restaurants was a temperature gauge, which read 44°C. Who would have thought Moscow could be so bloody hot? As we had taken a night flight and were a little overdressed, we spent five hours lying in the park, and skimming stones across the river. The weather was as good as it could have been and we lamented not having more time. When we had to leave, Nastya decided we should take a walk around Red Square and the complete Kremlin Wall. There were thousands of people eating ice-lollies and drinking water from plastic bottles; just in front of the Iberian Chapel, in the short passage connecting Red Square with Manezhnaya Square is Moscow's Zero point plaque. All distances from Moscow's centre are measured from this point. It is said that if you make a wish and throw a coin over your shoulder onto the plaque, it will come true. Many people were testing this theory. Next to a circle of people throwing coins over their shoulders were two babushkas. They picked up every coin no sooner than it hit the ground. This was too much for one little boy, who after throwing his coin onto the plaque, immediately bent down, picked it up and threw it into the distance. I thought his action was a little mean but at the same time, I could understand it. With someone picking up the coins, and even bending down in readiness before you've even tossed it, the small moment of magic you're paying for is quite lost.

After more tearful farewells and many hugs in Sheremetyevo, I was once again alone on a plane full of Russians. We still had no plans, hardly any money, and yet for some reason we thought it would all magically work out for the good. This was actually Nastya's philosophy. She often said things like ‘It will all work out; you think too much'. Perhaps I did. After Paris I wasn't sure if we would see each other again. There were such long periods between meetings that I did lose faith a number of times. But as we were married and I was leaving Russia for the second time, I began to worry less about the future and employed Nastya's way of thinking.

London's Burning

About a week before I left Russia for the second time, two memorable things happened that are worthy of mention. The first being that Nastya bought us a toaster. This may sound insignificant but it was a huge life-changing moment for me. Nastya's family had no concept of a full English breakfast, and toast was something that people ate in the mythical land of Wales while riding dragons. We had eaten meatballs or soup for breakfast most mornings and I was a little tired of it. So you can imagine how happy I was when Nastya presented me with a toaster, sliced bread and a jar of Nutella. The second thing that happened was the summer riots in England, which became a major news item in Russia.

I had been lying happily on the bed when Nastya bust into our bedroom and said ‘There is war in London.'

‘With who?'

‘With London.'

I got up and went to the living room to see for myself on the TV. Though I couldn't understand what was being said I could see scenes of rioting and understood what Nastya had meant. I wasn't surprised by the riots. After the MPs' expenses scandal of 2009, it had seemed to me as though the air in Britain had been charged with anger for some while. Nastya saw this as an excuse to keep me in Russia. She said ‘You could apply to become a refugee.' But I knew that wouldn't be necessary, though I did allow myself to wonder for a second how nice it would have been to be given refugee status. Over the following days I followed the story online. Nastya was concerned the riots, which had spread out of London, would reach Wales. It never happened, and I sighed with relief because I love Cardiff. I'd seen it change over the years, and there were bad bits as well as good bits, but I couldn't stand the thought of people burning it down.