Why do anything when we have winter for six months? Foreigners' opinion about Russia: Winter for six months, a powerful country and strong people. Russians eat large “ravioli”.

A video blogger from Minsk made a video in which she asked residents 12 different countries about what they think about Russia. The result turned out to be very interesting.

Money is overflowing, and bears...

“In Russia there is six months of winter, cold and darkness,” this is exactly what the majority of respondents think. Many of them have never been to our country, but, nevertheless, they know a lot about Russia - both about its history and literature, and even a few words in Russian, most of them speak quite tolerably about them. At the same time, many still believe that in Russia there is constant cold, there is no sun, and therefore Russians are often sad in their souls.

Nevertheless, foreigners are sure that there is a lot in Russia that is worth seeing. Thus, two beautiful Indian women noted that Russia has a lot of incredibly beautiful architecture, especially... mosques with domes, photos of which they saw on the Internet (meaning, of course, temples). The history of Russia and its literature are also very impressive, the Indian women add.

In addition, Russia is a very rich country. There are a lot of cultures mixed here, there is no shortage of money, and besides... there are a lot of bears. At least, that's what the respondents think.

Russians eat big ravioli

The opinions of foreigners about Russian cuisine also turned out to be interesting. “Russians eat a lot of soups,” they are sure. Most of them call all Russian dishes borscht and admit that it is quite tasty, although very unusual. Other dishes are also named, sometimes even with recipes.

“I had a Russian girl, she cooked something like big ravioli. It was delicious,” says a guy from Argentina. And a girl who has a friend in Russia shared a recipe for crab stick salad, which she also really liked.

Sexual accent

But what do foreigners think about Russians themselves? A young man from the United States replies that Russians are strong and powerful. He also thinks that Russian guys have a very attractive accent. “Just fantastic, perfect for bad guys,” he says a little enviously.

A resident of Kenya thinks the same. She speaks a few words in Russian and admits that Russian sounds “very sexy” to her.

Beauty and scars

As for the character of Russians, all respondents unanimously claim that Russians are very pleasant and sociable people. And it’s not surprising - after all, many of them studied with our compatriots and can form a more reliable opinion than about the weather or nature. “Russians are very smart and beautiful people,” says a resident of Kenya, who is friends with one of the Russian women.

In addition, many correspondents noted that Russians are a strong people. “They are very strong and powerful,” says the young Chinese. Russian men are very stern, says the cheerful Frenchman. “It’s like they’re saying, ‘Do you want to see my scars? Which ones should I show you?” he describes, laughing.

Fiction and truth

Of course, much of this is Hollywood cliches. However, it should be noted that the other part of what was said is very true. And if not for anti-Russian propaganda, throughout for long years conducted by the West, this part would be larger. Fortunately, the days of militant Russophobia seem to be becoming a thing of the past.

This question arises constantly when it comes to urban improvement.

Why do you need bike paths when it's winter here?
Why all these benches when it's winter here?
Who needs public spaces and all this improvement, because we have ZI-MA!
Ha ha! They all paint summer pictures, but what will happen to these streets in winter?

Let's figure it out, maybe there really is nothing to do, since we have winter here for six months?

This is a common misconception. Let's see why a person goes outside? In principle, two motives for this risky action can be distinguished. The most important thing is that a person needs to get from point A to point B. Perhaps someday they will invent a teleport and the need to go outside will disappear like the tail of a frightened lizard. But while there is no teleport, each of us leaves the entrance almost every day to go to school, work, a store or a bank. But you never know what things might happen? Secondly, a person goes out just for a walk - to admire the city, breathe in the air, look at the sunset, buy a beer and hang out with the boys. The street is the main product of the city. A place to live. Here we communicate, look at others, show ourselves to others.

What happens when winter comes? While the weather can somehow affect a walk, neither winter nor rain have any effect on the main reason for leaving the house. You don't miss work because of bad weather, do you? Or don't you stop buying groceries because it snowed? Yes, you are unlikely to go to admire the sunset in winter, but in the total number of movements around the city this is an insignificant percentage. People use the streets all year round, despite the weather. The city’s task is to make staying on the street as comfortable as possible for people at any time.

Someone will now say that in bad weather he will not walk, but will go by car. Good for that someone. But statistics say that the weather has virtually no effect on the refusal or choice of a car for a trip, with rare exceptions when something completely terrible happens. And if something terrible happens, then all residents suffer from it: both motorists and pedestrians.

Now let’s look at what percentage of Muscovites use a personal car in Moscow. There are no exact statistics here. But all calculations indicate that the vast majority of Muscovites do not use a personal car for regular trips around the city. There are figures that in the center the ratio is 80% for OT and 20% for a personal car, and throughout the city the ratio is 70% and 30%. A meticulous reader can rummage through statistics and find there approximate figures of 2.5 million cars on the streets per day and almost 10 million trips on public transport that Muscovites make.

In any case, most people use public transport and legs to get from point A to point B. Despite rain, snow, hail, heat and other gifts of nature. Summer, winter, spring and even autumn. Most Muscovites walk along sidewalks, pedestrian zones, and hurry to the metro and trolleybus stops. And the city’s task is to make the lives of these people as comfortable as possible.

The car manufacturers took care of the motorist. It has a leather interior, climate control and a stereo system. The mayor's office should take care of the pedestrian. A pedestrian should walk along beautiful, clean streets without puddles and potholes, ride on modern trolleybuses and fast, beautiful trams.

The same goes for cyclists. Don't confuse a nice ride in the park, for which there are indeed several months of the year, with regular business trips, when cycling is an alternative to public transport.

Remember who's boss in town!

Gevorkyan Eduard

There are still six months until winter

Eduard Gevorkyan

There are still six months until winter

In memory of L. KURANTILYAN

I also loved the May holidays because they were... a lot of.

And between the celebrations I started a thorough cleaning of the apartment. Cleaned the windows. Cleared out the dump on the mezzanine. A garbage mountain of old newspapers and magazines grew in the hallway.

My mother kept all these rotten periodicals. She resolutely stopped my attempts to get rid of paper trash. And each time she told for a long time, in detail, how during the war she made papier-mâché from newspapers, and made cigarette cases from it, painted it and sold it on the black market. That's what they fed on. I had jokes about papier-mâché on the tip of my tongue, but, looking into her stern eyes, I swallowed the jokes -

During the holidays, my mother went to visit her sister in the village. I gathered my courage and decided to liquidate the junk.

Late sixties? that's when it was. Books for waste paper? only in a nightmare. Rumors about a book boom came in muddy waves, but didn’t inspire confidence? They're doing something weird again in the capital! So was there one problem I had with the books? where to put it?

There were a catastrophic shortage of bookshelves; we had to dodge, arrange them this way and that, and push volumes into the spaces between the shelves. During one of the rearrangements, I came up with a story about a scribe and his library. He collected, collected and amassed a huge library. I started compiling a catalogue. And he discovered pure devilry: some books were available in three or four copies, although he was ready to swear that he had not bought a single one? junk! Others, whom I remembered and waited for free time, perhaps a pension, so that I could come to them and read to my heart's content? completely gone! Then even worse? There were books in unknown languages, some albums with monstrous scribbling, boxes with diaries of Saratov high school students. As a result, the bibliophile is slightly damaged in his mind, douses the books with kerosene and... Madhouse! He talks about himself to a quiet psycho. In response, the quiet one takes him by the Adam’s apple and strangles him, saying that it was the bibliophile who burned him, because he was the diary of the Saratov high school student.

Here's the story. The guys liked it in the cafe.

Did I take the old paper out into the yard and put it near the public barbecue? Not suitable for barbecue, but for kindling? quite.

On the stairs, one of the stacks fell apart. Newspapers, magazines, and old posters spilled down the wooden steps.

A small thick package fell out of the papers, wrapped in a poster and tied with twine. Weighing it in my hand, I looked back at the neighbor’s door. The mother could easily have put the bonds in the trash and forgotten. One of my friends is slowly buying up old bonds for a quarter of the price, hoping to live until the payment and hit the jackpot.

And he will live. Suitcases full of bonds will be successfully exchanged for banknotes. There is no moral to be drawn from this story because it is not made up. He will live long and happily, leaving his children a house, a car and quite a few thousand in his savings account. True, it will turn out badly with children, but that’s different...

There were no bonds in the package. An old desk calendar, very pre-war. Yellowed leaves. Beneath the black dates, in faded purple ink, are columns of small numbers. The mother writes in a sweeping manner; it is not her hand.

I wanted to throw the sheets of paper into the general pile, but suddenly I remembered: I am five or six years old, my grandmother is sitting at the windowsill, looking at the large thermometer outside the window and writing something on the calendar. The thermometer disappeared during the war. The funeral came for my father. Then my grandmother disappeared. Mother spoke sparingly about this. Probably, the grandmother got a little damaged from grief, began to say unnecessary things and disappeared. She left to look for her son’s grave. All that remains of it: columns of numbers? daily temperature over several years.

Her mother didn't get along with her. She gave away the few remaining belongings to her relatives. My grandmother had a chest bound in black metal with many nails and rivets. When they carried me out, I grabbed onto him, roaring like a tick. Still would? This is not just a chest, but a tank-plane-ship, depending on where you place the poker and a piece of pipe. The chest often appeared in scary stories which I told the guys from our yard. There were books in the chest, but they didn’t interest me then. The only thing worthwhile for me then was UAibolitF? one of the first publications where Barmaley is? black person.

I didn't throw away the calendar. If mother makes a fuss about the papers, I’ll show her and remind her about the chest. And how rudely she tore me away from him... I still haven’t forgotten the insult. Funny!

So I came up with a story about a boy whose only fun was taken away from him as a child? box. The boy grew and grew, but the chest remained a symbol of refuge. He became a big man, almost a minister, he has a family, children and a little secret. There is a chest hidden in one of the rooms of the huge apartment. When he feels bad, he comes here, locks himself, climbs into the chest and lies in it for a long time, quietly, like a mouse, smiling blissfully. Is it even better this way? a certain villain in high ranks marries young girls, and they fatally disappear. Sort of Bluebeard local significance! One of the wives violates the ban, enters a secret room, and there is a chest full of... Naturally, she writes to the party committee. And then it starts!

Our old three-story house stands in the center, sandwiched by garages and dilapidated buildings, in which it is no longer possible to live, but they live, endure and wait for apartments, and the city authorities huddle because there are five souls for every meter and for every lopsided house propped up with a log. , we need to build a multi-story building.

The yard is narrow. To turn his car around, Arshak’s father built wooden beams small turntable. Will you stand in a circle and push off with your foot? creaking, crackling, pleasure! The car drove into a circle, then small fry ran up and turned in unison towards the garage. Otherwise it is impossible to get into it.

Now the circle is not rotating, everything is clogged with earth, sand, and debris. Arshak's father sold the car and no longer drives. The circle asks to be included in history, but I don’t want to invent anything about it.

Our black tuff stone house has stood for a hundred years, and it will stand for another hundred years if the heavy hand of the master plan passes. The ceilings are four meters high, you can run races in the corridor. But hot water only last year, but the sewage system often gets clogged and overflows on the first floor. Fortunately, we have the second one.

If you walk past the garages, then in a minute you will come to a music store, which is opposite the Intourist hotel. Crazy tourists wander into our labyrinth of alleys and dirty courtyards, gasp in admiration at the wooden verandas with carved railings, at the interlacing of roofs and balconies, at the picturesquely hung multi-colored linen, which is not inferior in color to the Neapolitan city landscape. Exotic!

Residents dream of getting out of the exotic new house and constantly grumble? the floors are rotten, and the pipes are rusty and singing. On the other side? center. Three rooms for two. They threatened us with moving in, they offered fantastically profitable exchanges, but when my mother thought about the options, I resisted. And vice versa.

Endless winter..., the half-streets are empty...
Midnight houses, blizzards, white canvases...
As if someone is following you, you will turn around and see no one...
Only frost, only ice..., nothing more, nothing more...

Winter, winter, winter..., for six months, no sound, no letter...
Winter, winter, winter... hides me from you like a prison...

Endless winter, dark alleys...
Lonely houses, identical dreams...
Endless winter, I don't believe in this silence...
I might go crazy, maybe you should still call?

Winter, winter, winter..., not a call for six months,
no letter...
Winter, winter, winter... hides me from you,
like a prison" Endless Winter.., poluulochki empty...
Midnight House, blizzard white canvas...
Bud track who is coming, turn back anyone...
Only frost, only ice .. more , nothing more ...

Winter, winter, winter .. , in six months or vonochka or letters ...
Winter, winter, winter.. , I hide from you, like a prison...

Endless Winter, dark alleys...
Single family home, the same dreams...
Endless Winter, I do not believe in this quiet...
I can get crazy, may still call?

Winter, winter, winter .. , in six months or bells,
no letters...
Winter, winter, winter .. , from you I hide
as a prison &