rostov-on-don: where the cold bites and the vibe bites back

so here i am in rostov-on-don, freezing my digital nomad digits off while trying to make spreadsheets look like they’re not generated by a sentient microwave. the weather’s currently playing a cruel joke - *1.34 degrees outside but feels like -4.32 because apparently humidity loves to amplify suffering. checked my phone and it’s currently offering a free sample of arctic tundra life, hope you packed more layers than a russian doll.

some local at a bar slurred that don river at midnight turns into a ghost party spot, but only if you bring vodka and leave your dignity at home. he also swore the bridge is haunted by a guy who lost his favorite hat in 1987.

the co-working space i’m crashing at smells like old coffee and existential dread, but their borscht is fire. if the city starts feeling too much (which it does by tuesday), volgograd’s like a quick jaunt away for some historical whiplash. heard it’s got tanks and stuff.

someone told me that pushkinskaya street is where you go to feel fancy, but also where pickpockets play ‘find the tourist’s wallet’. i didn’t test this theory. my wallet’s still missing though. unrelated probably.

overheard a grandma warning tourists that dramatic theatre is cursed. she said the actors keep getting replaced by actual bears during matinee shows. might explain why the lead growled during the love scene last week.

for real though, if you’re gonna survive this arctic hellscape, hit up tripadvisor for that one place with the pelmeni that doesn’t taste regret. or yelp for the local market where you can buy expired cheese and questionable folklore. my hostel owner mumbled something about a stalin statue* that turns people into communists at dusk. haven’t dared to check.

i heard the metro tunnels are where all the lost socks go to start new lives. also that the humidity makes you sweat your soul out through your fingertips. 10/10 would recommend packing three sweaters and a small prayer.

gonna go stare at the don river and pretend it’s not actively trying to freeze me solid. peace out from the land where even the pigeons look frostbitten.