Friday 29 May 2009

Russia's Not Hot Water

It's summer. Those months where you had to attach crampons to your boots just to pop to the corner shop seem a world away now. And just when the beleaguered masses are getting used to a reasonable degree of heat in their lives again, the Moscow United Energy Company (MOEK) goes and snatches the experience away from them. Yes. It’s that time of year again when summer is neither warmly received, nor warmly delivered: the hot water cut-off.

When those busy little worker bees at MOEK pull out their spanners, many Muscovites pull out their spare saucepans, but MOEK may be doing the populace an unwitting favor. It seems the cold showers that the hardier Muscovites resort to at these times might actually be doing them some good.

As contradictory as it may sound, bombarding yourself with water that’s a few degrees shy of crystallization helps prevent sickness, according to Dr. Alexa Fleckenstein. In her book, Health0, she propounds that a daily cold shower will strengthen your immune system, fighting off colds and influenza.

Did someone say Swine Flu? What Swine Flu?

Cold showers also rid the body of toxins, and improve circulation and respiration. And there’s more, (oh yes, this cold shower business is to personal hygiene what garlic is to the culinary world!) Although the dampening of a rampant libido is the first thing that comes to mind when someone utters the words 'cold' and 'shower' in the same sentence, gynecologist Dr G.N. Mansukhani states that it actually helps to raise your sperm count. So there’s something to be said for the old Soviet centralization practices after all.

Unfortunately for me, I'm not a bath person, even when the alternative is water that's not just cold, but subarctic bone-brittling cold. I just don't get on with ‘still’ water. If you're the same and you should find yourself void of the usual options when the stoppage rolls around, (one, no friends with hot water; two, all of said friends have stolen your saucepans; three, the saucepans are actually theirs, because you stole them last year) then here is my personal recipe for a bearable cold shower. *

The hands, feet and face are the most resilient to cold, and are the recommended starting points by Dr. Fleckenstein. After wetting them, rub your hands all over your body, this helps ease your skin towards the heart-stopping temperature it will soon endure beneath a stream of virtual ice crystals. Once that’s done, soap up thoroughly (and frantically) using your preferred scrubbing device. Don’t skimp on this step because the lather will provide a good buffer between you and the blast of liquid nitrogen you’re about to subject yourself to—at least for the first second anyway. Rinse off the arms first. Hand-feed water to the neck. Then, tease the chest, stomach, back and hips beneath the spray, like you’re going through poses for a Hawaiian ‘hula’ style photo shoot. By this time numbness and gravity will have taken care of everything below the waist.

Done.

A handy side effect, by the way, is that the bathroom mirror won’t steam up. This fact will save your life. How else would you realize how blue your skin has turned from the combination of the scientifically impossible sub-zero water and the fact that you’ve been holding your breath in shock for ten minutes straight?

Oh. A word of warning before I leave you. There are one or two areas that you can’t trick—the cold will affect them as normal. Sorry guys, but that's the price of good health.

*Please note that this is not professional health advice, merely a suggestion as to how to cope with the temporary lack of a basic necessity!







Thank Your (Un)lucky Stars.

On a trip to New York last month my wife and I flew Swiss International from Moscow with a stopover in Zurich. My wife had never flown with them before and I assured her that they were one of the best airlines on the planet. I still think they are, I just picked the wrong trip to tell her that.

On the nine-hour push out of Zurich we had no in-flight entertainment. No films, no radio. Zip. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we had been wearing blinkers (not so strange if you know us intimately, trust me) but in strict adherence to my ‘cabin luggage only’ rule, they didn’t make the grade. So, unblinkered, we were free to see that everyone around us—that’s everyone—was wearing the appropriate facial expressions for the movies they were happily watching. The plane was full and the stewardess’s multiple attempts at resetting the system didn’t help us.

On the way back we boarded a plane at JFK stoked to find that it was brand spanking new. If I’d closed my eyes for the first thirty rows then opened them, I’d have believed—albeit short-term—that I was on a plane full of business class seats. What I believed long-term though was that there was no way the same thing could happen to us on the flight home. Chance, I reckoned, would have our backs, after properly abandoning us the first time round. Even if that failed, then…hey…the plane was brand new!

I was sort of right. It couldn’t happen to us again...well not just us anyway.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that because this is a new plane…the entertainment system is not working.”

Excuse me?

That one took some figuring out. I’m still working on it now.

The announcer was Swiss-German, and although her English seemed very good I hoped there was something lost in translation. After take-off I realized there wasn’t. Something else that wasn’t lost was the image of that green and blue map on my screen, with its numerous helpful flight statistics.

33296 feet. 10148.6 meters. 543 miles per hour. 873.9 kilometers per…

I swear those figures remained burnt onto my corneas for a week.

We then arrived at my favorite airport of all time, Zurich, and were rolling on through the security checkpoint. My wife had bought a gleaming new white MacBook from the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue and had already fallen head over heels for it. Of course she was required to take it out of its bag for it to be scanned. The woman in charge of the x-ray machine’s conveyor belt then felt the need to turn the computer top-down in a tray which had previously been used on a construction site to transport some form of aggregate from one place to another. You can tell by the depth and number of scratches that are engrained on my beloved’s laptop now.

Sometimes in life you are faced with so much bad luck in such a short period that it truly bewilders you. Then you shake your head, exhale, and conclude that—

1. The movie selection was probably going to be everything from the depths of PG rated hell anyway.

2. The MacBook is luckily not a present for somebody back home, and

3. You have four working limbs and you aren’t being shot at by both sides of a war you have nothing to do with.

In short, you realize that the ‘bad luck’ was of quite a harmless variety. You just hope it remains so, as you slip back in your seat for that last leg of your journey, and cruise along at 33296 feet. 10148.6 meters. 543 miles per hour…


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