In America, the beloved, iconic, unavoidable winter holiday movie par excellence is Capra’s “It’s A Wonderful Life” (1946)—in which a Christmas angel saves a discouraged man from a capitalist devil named Potter. In the Former Soviet Union, the beloved, iconic, unavoidable winter holiday movie is Eldar Ryazanov’s “S Lyogkim Parom!” (1975) The title is translated “Have a nice bath!” (though it more literally means, “may the steam in your sauna be gentle”), and the movie tells the story of a man who gets so soused during a festive pre-New Year’s Eve shvitz at a Moscow sauna (a Russian tradition) that he hops a flight to Leningrad by mistake, and rings in the New Year with the wrong dame. (He doesn’t notice his error because Communist urban planning made Soviet street names and high-rises so interchangeable that one city could look pretty much like the next.) For most of the last century, Christmas was verboten in the U.S.S.R., as God and communism did not mix, but that did not mean that anybody quit making merry come solstice time, even if, until the 90s, cash on hand for gifting was scarce—as were gifts. No longer.
Lately, old-fashioned, opulent Christmas glee has returned to the Former Soviet Union, melding with their tradition of New Year’s Eve jollity, and creeping ever further back into December. Yuletide in Moscow positively glitters with Free Market tinsel. In the snowy, busy, traffic-lined squares, gigantic Christmas trees loom above intersections, glowing with green and white baubles. Before you breathe a sigh of wonderment at this festive public expression of joy, bear in mind that the globes dotting these pines are the logo of a Russian bank: Sberbank.
But this is not to say “Bah Khambag.” Quaint holiday trappings abound in Moscow, whether in the Arbat pedestrian zone, where pastel-painted townhouses hold souvenir shops (and a Starbucks and a Cinnabon), or at the outdoor folk art market Izmailovsky Vernissazh, forty minutes from the city center. At the Izmailovsky Vernissazh, gusts of snow swirl among hundreds of picturesque stalls proffering hand-painted Santa Claus and Grandfather Frost ornaments for “yolki” (fir-trees); as well as twirling wooden music boxes and rustic birchbark canisters; red-gold-and-back lacquered khokhloma spoons, trays and etuis; dainty earrings of wood, amber, malachite, and moonstone; tea sets of blue and white gzhel majolica; and holiday postcards left over from the Soviet era. There’s also a positive zoo of fur shapki on sale, the hats rustling on high racks amid the snow squalls and coming in many shapes—kubanki (pillbox), ushanki (with ear flaps), or brimmed caps—and in many animals: fox, rabbit, squirrel, or mink—sometimes with fluffy tails. Be prepared to barter.
For those who lack the time to journey out on the metro or the inclination to fight for skidkas (discounts), the color riot within the Kremlin walls comes close to a Christmas idyll anyway, and fur hats, matryoshki and other souvenirs are sold on many of the pedestrian walks and underpasses nearby. If you prefer to take cover from the wintry winds as you hunt holiday tchotchkes, you can snack on syrniki (sugary, hot cheese blintz-like pastries) at the Kofe Khaus (Coffee House) outpost in the Okhotny Ryad mall, right outside the Alexander Gardens. Hand-painted ornaments fill showcases that ring the mezzanines, around a glass elevator. And at the profusion of high-end hotels in today’s Moscow, tinsel, trees and carols abound. If you take tea in the lobby at the Ritz on Tverskaya street in December, it will be in the shadow of a huge Christmas tree, heavy with golden balls, to the sound of “Silver Bells” and Tchaikovsky, played by a pianist, hour after hour.
One more tip to keep in mind: the Christmas season lasts longer in Moscow than in much of the rest of the world, as they celebrate the holiday not on December 25, but on January 7, following the Gregorian calendar. On that day, pious Muscovites walk around the massive, restored Cathedral of Christ the Savior in a solemn procession, bearing candles, banners and icons. That cathedral was de-domed in the 1930s under Stalin, and converted into an open-air public swimming pool by Khrushchev in the 1950s. In the 1990s, the gold-glazed domes returned. So if you want to have a swim and sauna in Moscow to refresh yourself for the new year, you simply will have to do it somewhere else. “S lyogkim parom!” indeed.
[All photos by Liesl Schillinger]
Liesl Schillinger (@arbitrix) is a culture writer, critic, and translator based in NYC. Her book of illustrated neologisms, “Wordbirds,” comes out next fall (Simon and Schuster).
For our other twelve Christmas dispatches from around the world, visit Roads & Kingdoms
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