That, for the uninitiated, is how you say "Happy new year!" in Russian. It's pronounced like this:
Mmmmm salmon. Kurban had way too much fun making one of them bite me with its sharp little teeth.
SNOW-vim GOAD-um
It literally translates to "With the new year!" and is often followed by "C новым счастьем!" (SNOW-vim SHAS-tyem), which means "With new happiness!"
I certainly found a little new happiness this new year. I've heard a lot about Russian new year celebrations, and I decided that (rather than flying home or jaunting around Europe for a few thousand dollars) I would stay put for vacation. As I've mentioned, it was time well spent recuperating, but the icing on the cake was having New Year's eve with my host family.
If I had to generalize, I would say that Russian New Year takes all the fun parts of both American Christmas and our New Year's Eve, and smashes them together. You get the tree, and the good food, and the presents, and the countdown at midnight, and the champagne and toasts.
You also get caviar, which I'm ashamed to say I'm totally incapable of eating. And the presents are brought, not by Santa Clause and his reindeer, but by Grandfather Frost and his granddaughter Snegurochka, who is much younger and therefore has to do all the heavy lifting while Grandfather Frost stumps around in his blue robes with his walking stick.
Snegurochka's name is pretty much impossible to translate. I've been calling her the Ice Princess, but it seems like a more common version is the Snow Maiden or Ice Maiden. The word is basically "snow+little and cute+female", so you can translate that however you want.
It all started in the morning, when the cooking began. I had decided, after the only moderate success of shortbread cookies and banana bread (the latter completely confused the Russians), to try oatmeal cookies. My host mom had her heart set on cranberry sauce, to which a previous student introduced her. I baked up a million cookies, boiled up a huge vat of cranberry sauce, and washed mountains of dishes while everyone protested weakly. (It's the only household chore that I'm allowed to do, and even then just barely.) My host mom made barrels of salad (consisting mostly of ham and fish, with the occasional canned pea floating to the surface under a sheen of mayonnaise).
That's Salad Olivier, the one ABSOLUTELY MANDATORY FOOD on New Year's Eve. You can get away without caviar, you might even be able to squeak by without champagne, but you do not celebrate without Salad Olivier. It's actually very tasty, with potatoes, canned peas, carrot, pickles, ham, and mayo.
And yes, that is mayonnaise squeezed all over the salad, which already contains mayonnaise, as a garnish. Welcome to my world.
Then her boyfriend, Kurban, came over bearing salmon and chicken.
That's Salad Olivier, the one ABSOLUTELY MANDATORY FOOD on New Year's Eve. You can get away without caviar, you might even be able to squeak by without champagne, but you do not celebrate without Salad Olivier. It's actually very tasty, with potatoes, canned peas, carrot, pickles, ham, and mayo.
And yes, that is mayonnaise squeezed all over the salad, which already contains mayonnaise, as a garnish. Welcome to my world.
Then her boyfriend, Kurban, came over bearing salmon and chicken.
Mmmmm salmon. Kurban had way too much fun making one of them bite me with its sharp little teeth.
At about eleven, they hollered me out of my room to join them in the big room, which is the age old russian combination of living room and bedroom for everyone but the kids. I don't go in there usually, since it's their family space, but I got a good look this time. It's quite lovely.
They'd set up a big table with all their fanciest dishes and mountains of food. Two kinds of salad, caviar, smoked salmon, fresh vegetables, chicken, cranberry sauce, and wine. Lots of wine. We all settled in with our goblets and set to the serious business of eating way too much and watching the New Years TV programs.
My host mom insisted that I get a good picture of my cookies to show you all how industrious I was.
The tradition has always been that you watch TV until midnight, and so every station goes nuts with their holiday extravaganza. They get as many celebrities as possible, in the weirdest costumes, with the most backup dancers. Most of the channels seemed to have decided that a constant rain of glitter was necessary as well. If it doesn't give you a seizure AND get a song stuck in your head, it's not fit for New Year's Viewing.
Here's an example from NTV, arguably the most popular channel in Russia.
You should really skip around a little in that video. No matter where you land, it's gonna be weird, with a strange mix of beloved old songs from Soviet movies and American pop culture, including that blue lady from The Fifth Element singing in Russian.
None of us could agree on what to watch. Babushka was firmly protesting that we had to watch the classical concerts, and everyone else was fighting over which pop star was more entertaining. In the end, we found a rerun of a Tina Turner concert on one of the weird channels, and everyone agreed on that. So we ate and drank and argued about american pop music until midnight.
At a few minutes to midnight, we hurriedly changed the channel to Channel 1, the official government channel, and waited for the President's address. This is a vital part of the new year, and always has been. When Yeltsin announced on December 31, 1999 that he was resigning as President of Russia, the biggest question on everyone mind was, Who's going to give the presidential address?
(The answer, of course, was Putin.)
This year, of course, it was poor little Medvedev. Everyone feels bad for him, like he's a little kid walking around in his dad's shoes. Everyone mocked his silly little speech terribly, and then we opened the champagne as the Kremlin bells rang in the new year. Then we argued about whether we could drink yet, or if we had to wait until the bells stopped ringing, or if we had to wait until the anthem had been sung. Vera, my most mom's daughter, couldn't participate in the argument, because she was holding her breath while the clock struck so that she could get her New Year's wish.
Only Babushka wanted to listen to the national anthem. The rest of us were joking about how no one knows the lyrics because they change them too often. Even Vera doesn't remember them. Kurban sang the soviet lyrics and laughed until he choked.
Then there were toasts, and since Ded Moroz had officially come, we all got our presents. I gave everyone cards and contributed a nice box of chocolates to the table, while Ded Moroz had brought me some fancy little soaps and a big fluffy blue towel. Then there were more and more and more toasts. I usually don't drink much, and you could see everyone relax when I let them refill my glass. Kurban finally said, "See? I was so worried! But look, she's a normal person!" as he poured me yet another glass of champagne.
There were a million phone calls to make and receive, since you have to get in touch with all of your friends and family on New Years, and there was so much food to eat and so much champagne to be distributed, so many toasts to make and old stories to share. It was an amazing night, and one of the few times when I've felt really at home and welcome on this weird alien planet.
My host mom insisted that I get a good picture of my cookies to show you all how industrious I was.
The tradition has always been that you watch TV until midnight, and so every station goes nuts with their holiday extravaganza. They get as many celebrities as possible, in the weirdest costumes, with the most backup dancers. Most of the channels seemed to have decided that a constant rain of glitter was necessary as well. If it doesn't give you a seizure AND get a song stuck in your head, it's not fit for New Year's Viewing.
Here's an example from NTV, arguably the most popular channel in Russia.
You should really skip around a little in that video. No matter where you land, it's gonna be weird, with a strange mix of beloved old songs from Soviet movies and American pop culture, including that blue lady from The Fifth Element singing in Russian.
None of us could agree on what to watch. Babushka was firmly protesting that we had to watch the classical concerts, and everyone else was fighting over which pop star was more entertaining. In the end, we found a rerun of a Tina Turner concert on one of the weird channels, and everyone agreed on that. So we ate and drank and argued about american pop music until midnight.
At a few minutes to midnight, we hurriedly changed the channel to Channel 1, the official government channel, and waited for the President's address. This is a vital part of the new year, and always has been. When Yeltsin announced on December 31, 1999 that he was resigning as President of Russia, the biggest question on everyone mind was, Who's going to give the presidential address?
(The answer, of course, was Putin.)
This year, of course, it was poor little Medvedev. Everyone feels bad for him, like he's a little kid walking around in his dad's shoes. Everyone mocked his silly little speech terribly, and then we opened the champagne as the Kremlin bells rang in the new year. Then we argued about whether we could drink yet, or if we had to wait until the bells stopped ringing, or if we had to wait until the anthem had been sung. Vera, my most mom's daughter, couldn't participate in the argument, because she was holding her breath while the clock struck so that she could get her New Year's wish.
Only Babushka wanted to listen to the national anthem. The rest of us were joking about how no one knows the lyrics because they change them too often. Even Vera doesn't remember them. Kurban sang the soviet lyrics and laughed until he choked.
Then there were toasts, and since Ded Moroz had officially come, we all got our presents. I gave everyone cards and contributed a nice box of chocolates to the table, while Ded Moroz had brought me some fancy little soaps and a big fluffy blue towel. Then there were more and more and more toasts. I usually don't drink much, and you could see everyone relax when I let them refill my glass. Kurban finally said, "See? I was so worried! But look, she's a normal person!" as he poured me yet another glass of champagne.
There were a million phone calls to make and receive, since you have to get in touch with all of your friends and family on New Years, and there was so much food to eat and so much champagne to be distributed, so many toasts to make and old stories to share. It was an amazing night, and one of the few times when I've felt really at home and welcome on this weird alien planet.
