A Frosty Reception in Northern Russia

The sun barely shows itself in Murmansk during the winter. It rises late in the morning and apathetically crosses the sky before setting in the early afternoon. The city is dark, gloomy and very, very cold. We had been drawn there by the lure of seeing the northern lights and spent several chilly hours on our first night up on the hills above the city. The lights had been magical, one of the moving experiences that you know you will never forget, but that left us six nights in Murmansk to kill and very little to do.
Often we would stroll through the snowy and deserted streets, stopping every so often to buy more beer from the kiosks along the way. One evening we came upon a group of people stood about outside a bar. The group were obviously very drunk already and deferred all our questions to a squat but very solid looking man who seemed to be in charge. The party going on inside was being held in honour of a wedding and although it was a private party the squat man insisted that we come in as honoured guests. We were not going to turn down this unique chance to witness up close a Russian social ritual and, besides that, the vodka would be free.
When we got inside we realised just how honoured guests we were to be. Or at least, I was to be. The squat man who had invited us in seemed to think that Harry was only my translator so took him off to one side and sat me at the top table next to the bride. She kept beaming at me, clearly honoured by the presence of a foreigner at her wedding. She didn’t speak any English though, and my Russian didn’t extend to eloquent well-wishing so I smiled at her and raised the glass I had been handed. In addition to the vodka in my hand there was a glass of evil looking wine placed on the table and several plates of food set out before me.
I could see Harry far over in the distant part of the room talking merrily with the squat man so I could see nothing for it but to tuck in. I soon realised that this was a mistake as the food was awful and washing it down with the disgusting wine just made it worse. Unfortunately the people around me took my hesitation to mean that I wanted more vodka so my glass was refilled and we all drank again. I was desperate to avoid eating any more of the food so I began trying to chat with the people around me. Thankfully the large shots of vodka were taking effect at this point as I always find it easier to speak in foreign languages when I am slightly merry and soon I was chatting away with the bride and the guest on my other side, who turned out to be her father. I must have seemed an eccentric character to say the least. I had removed my coat, which was a sober colour to fit in with the Russian style of clothing. Unfortunately underneath that I was wearing a loud red fleece, which was by far the brightest item in the room and made me very conspicuous. When I removed my large fur hat I had revealed an exceedingly scruffy mop of hair that was now sticking up at alarming angles no matter how much I tried to surreptitiously pat it down into place. I also had the wire of my head torch wrapped around my torso and draped over my shoulders so that the torch part swayed in front of me, a movement that grew more exaggerated as the vodka flowed until it was nearly throttling the people on either side of me. Thankfully they were intrigued more than offended, and I made several demonstrations of just how bright my head torch was. After a little while I noticed that people were coming into the room just to look at me with curious expressions on their faces. They would stare at me for a little while, quite openly, and then retreat in obvious amazement at this peculiar westerner sat merrily in the midst of their party.
Just then everyone at the table started standing up and there was commotion everywhere. It took me several moments to realise that the tables were being cleared away so that dancing could begin. Not before someone had forced yet another glass of vodka into my hand. The bride’s father at this point excitedly decided that rather than the bride and groom having the first dance, as is tradition, I should further honour his daughter by taking to the floor with her. I was by this point quite drunk and was having trouble walking in straight lines, let alone trying to coordinate a dance with an over-exuberant Russian woman. On top of these objections I could see the groom giving me nasty looks that I didn’t like.
There was no arguing with the father and in my drunken state everything very quickly became a disorientating blur. Soon I was confused, off balance and nauseous. When the dance finished the bride grabbed me in an all-enveloping hug, which was useful as it stopped me keeling over right there in front of the entire crowd but I could still see the husband glowering at me from a few feet away.
I decided that I had had enough. Speaking very loudly in English I took the hand of the squat man and began shaking it, explaining that although we were very sad to leave we were grateful for his hospitality. Once my slurry speech was over I made to move towards the door but found I couldn’t. The squat man had my hand in a vice like grip and was not letting go. In fact, he now had Harry in one hand and me in the other and neither of us could move. I decided to act as if this was of no matter and we had decided, on balance, to stay for another drink. As ever, someone was ready and waiting and another glass of vodka was propelled into my hand. Once I had a drink in my hand he seemed to think I was less of a flight risk and he let go. I saw a chance. I proposed a toast and Harry was therefore furnished with a glass immediately. While I was gushing something about the friendship that existed between Britain and Russia that we must all work to maintain I motioned Harry towards the door. We downed the toast and then sharply made our way towards the exit, careful to keep smiling at the assembled guests while pushing through them at a speed that only just passed for dignified.
Once we were on the street and trying to put on our hats, coats and gloves the squat man came barrelling out of the door fuming. Feeling that the status of honoured foreigner had brought me so far this evening and must still have some resonance I stepped forward towards him with a smile on my face and attempts to pacify him on my lips. I was cut short in this, however, when he delivered a very swift and painful knee to my groin and I collapsed onto the snowy pavement. As I lay groaning and trying to clamber to my feet I just about made out the clunk and cry of Harry being given a jab in the face before I was on my feet and running down the street as fast as I could.