Russian dolls

In a country where women are still expected to behave in a ‘traditional’ manner, I have broken many rules of etiquette. I have carried heavy bags when walking with a man; I have been assertive in public; opened doors; and paid my way in social situations. Who knows what scorn I have received in doing so. But there is one aspect of Russian life that makes me relieved to be a woman - vodka drinking. Women are excused after a couple whereas men are expected to finish the bottle.

As soon as we boarded the Trans-Siberian Railway from Moscow to Irkutsk we were offered a drink by Alexei - a drunk, shirtless, built Russian with a scorpion tattoo on his chest. After repeated invites, we sat down to look at the video clips on his phone. Following a Full Metal Jacket episode of bathroom cleaning set to ‘In Da House’ we realised that him and his mate were Russian soldiers. So it would appear were many of the men on our train including Serge, the army instructor in our berth taking his daughter to Vladivostok to see his mother. Seemed like a nice bloke. You wouldn’t imagine that he mended machine guns for a living.

So for 36 hours Tom was avoiding Alexei’s various invitations to drink: the flick on the neck, the body builder pumping motions and the range of masculine grunts. Tom admitted feeling like a prisoner, only happily roaming the carriages once we saw Alexei being put to bed by the carriage attendant at three in the afternoon. I have another friend who has feigned hepatitis in order to avoid similar macho vodka drinking sessions. My refusals were however taken more readily. Sometimes it pays to be a woman in Siberia.