Wednesday, July 30, 2003
Eta Rahseeya
It will be difficult. I’m sure to scream. But it has to be done. People are starting to murmur again.
It’s been five days without bathing, just liberal applications of deodorant over my entire body. After writing this I am going to take a, kidding-you-not, freezing cold shower.
Sadly, I haven’t had hot water in my apartment since the 4th of July, the third day after I moved in. Since then, due to the nature of my artic alternative, my bathings have been few and far between.
This warrants some serous discussion. For those of you who have lived with me, you know that there is very little in the world more important to me than a long, steamy-hot shower: Heaven for a whole half hour. After nearly four weeks into “my test”, as I’ve been referring to it, I’ve become my version of Mr. Jekyll – Dr. Stanky – on two occasions. On the morning of the 5th day without bathing, with his signature moaning and frantic scratching, this dirt caked, irritable Neanderthal (with a lazy scowl) takes control. On the upside, while traveling in the subway, over 90% of all respondents believe Dr. Stanky to be a true-blue Russian; a feat Mr. Nicholas could never hope to achieve. (I think the other 10% were skeptical due to the lack of an open beer bottle between his legs.)
Mind you, my apartment is equipped with hot water pipes that connect to a hot water system; it’s all ready to go here. It’s just that the hot water heater is not working. Honestly though, I should just use the neighbors shower until my water heater is fixed, right? But the whole building is out of hot water. Ok then, couldn’t I make some time each day for the 15 minute walk to the big dormitory I lived in on the other side of the Metro station? Surely someone there would let me use the showers. Well, they don’t have hot water either. In fact, we, the entire population of Vasilevsky Island, some 630,000 people, are having a problem with our hot water heater. Yes, our hot water heater.
Saint Petersburg’s 5 million residents are supplied with hot water through a complex system of six or seven super-duper, completely-communist, mega-heaters the size of power plants. Most of these monoliths have been serving their respective Oblasts (political districts) every day for over 45 years now: except for Eeyuleeya (July). This unfortunate month has never experienced the wonders of the people’s warm water project.
Each year, during the five-week period of July and the first part of August, these plants are shut down for maintenance. As expected as slush in December, the locals have a hard time understanding bewildered Westerners like myself who can’t seem to get their heads around this very Russian turn in events. They say things, like, “at least it doesn’t happen in June.” And if you’ve been here long enough, you’d say, “Pravda (True),” because June in Saint Petersburg is only slightly warmer than June in Melbourne. However, for someone like me, who has been bred to see every month of a northern hemisphere summer as both warm and fully equipped with hot water, only the one traditional, and entirely acceptable, analysis will do: “Eta Rahseeya (It’s Russia)”.
Amazingly enough, more than mere acceptance of their lot, Petersburgers seem to have a sick affinity for musing over the political undercurrents commanding this cold water situation. Which sector of the city will get turned back on first? And from which party will the representative of that district belong? One thing is for sure, the two Oblasts held by communist party members, who represent a minority in government now (as you might have heard), are sure to be the last.
Welcome to the bastion of the “sea workers union,” the historical centre of St. Petersburg’s Red Navy, a district where many homes and factories still proudly fly the naval flag, which, although quite different from the state flag of the USSR, still bears a prominent red hammer and sickle; if you know St. Petersburg, this place could be none other than my home, Vasilevsky Island. So much for rushin’ hot water, my next liquid lounging will be this August in Estonia.
It will be difficult. I’m sure to scream. But it has to be done. People are starting to murmur again.
It’s been five days without bathing, just liberal applications of deodorant over my entire body. After writing this I am going to take a, kidding-you-not, freezing cold shower.
Sadly, I haven’t had hot water in my apartment since the 4th of July, the third day after I moved in. Since then, due to the nature of my artic alternative, my bathings have been few and far between.
This warrants some serous discussion. For those of you who have lived with me, you know that there is very little in the world more important to me than a long, steamy-hot shower: Heaven for a whole half hour. After nearly four weeks into “my test”, as I’ve been referring to it, I’ve become my version of Mr. Jekyll – Dr. Stanky – on two occasions. On the morning of the 5th day without bathing, with his signature moaning and frantic scratching, this dirt caked, irritable Neanderthal (with a lazy scowl) takes control. On the upside, while traveling in the subway, over 90% of all respondents believe Dr. Stanky to be a true-blue Russian; a feat Mr. Nicholas could never hope to achieve. (I think the other 10% were skeptical due to the lack of an open beer bottle between his legs.)
Mind you, my apartment is equipped with hot water pipes that connect to a hot water system; it’s all ready to go here. It’s just that the hot water heater is not working. Honestly though, I should just use the neighbors shower until my water heater is fixed, right? But the whole building is out of hot water. Ok then, couldn’t I make some time each day for the 15 minute walk to the big dormitory I lived in on the other side of the Metro station? Surely someone there would let me use the showers. Well, they don’t have hot water either. In fact, we, the entire population of Vasilevsky Island, some 630,000 people, are having a problem with our hot water heater. Yes, our hot water heater.
Saint Petersburg’s 5 million residents are supplied with hot water through a complex system of six or seven super-duper, completely-communist, mega-heaters the size of power plants. Most of these monoliths have been serving their respective Oblasts (political districts) every day for over 45 years now: except for Eeyuleeya (July). This unfortunate month has never experienced the wonders of the people’s warm water project.
Each year, during the five-week period of July and the first part of August, these plants are shut down for maintenance. As expected as slush in December, the locals have a hard time understanding bewildered Westerners like myself who can’t seem to get their heads around this very Russian turn in events. They say things, like, “at least it doesn’t happen in June.” And if you’ve been here long enough, you’d say, “Pravda (True),” because June in Saint Petersburg is only slightly warmer than June in Melbourne. However, for someone like me, who has been bred to see every month of a northern hemisphere summer as both warm and fully equipped with hot water, only the one traditional, and entirely acceptable, analysis will do: “Eta Rahseeya (It’s Russia)”.
Amazingly enough, more than mere acceptance of their lot, Petersburgers seem to have a sick affinity for musing over the political undercurrents commanding this cold water situation. Which sector of the city will get turned back on first? And from which party will the representative of that district belong? One thing is for sure, the two Oblasts held by communist party members, who represent a minority in government now (as you might have heard), are sure to be the last.
Welcome to the bastion of the “sea workers union,” the historical centre of St. Petersburg’s Red Navy, a district where many homes and factories still proudly fly the naval flag, which, although quite different from the state flag of the USSR, still bears a prominent red hammer and sickle; if you know St. Petersburg, this place could be none other than my home, Vasilevsky Island. So much for rushin’ hot water, my next liquid lounging will be this August in Estonia.
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