Chitral to Moscow: Surviving Winter
When the news of my admission to the Higher School of Economics spread in my hometown of Chitral, the excitement was overwhelming. Family and friends expressed their pride, blessing me with prayers and hope.
Yet, along with the congratulations came the gentle warnings:
Moscow is beautiful, but the winter there? Minus 30 degrees! Are you really ready?
Like many who grow up in mountainous northern Pakistan, I felt confident. After all, Chitral is no stranger to snow. I spent my childhood watching white peaks, feeling the crisp winter wind, and walking confidently on frosted paths. I believed that I was built for the cold.
I was wrong, well, not entirely wrong, but certainly not prepared for the boss-level winter Moscow had in store.
Winters in Chitral: Calm, Familiar, and Gentle
Winter in Chitral brings a softness to the world. Snow falls like a whisper, draping the mountains in white and slowing life into a peaceful rhythm. Days shorten, and people gather around heaters or traditional bukharis, sharing stories, laughter, and endless cups of steaming chai. The smell of burning wood mixes with the crisp mountain air, creating a kind of warmth that has little to do with temperature and everything to do with belonging.
Even when the cold tightened its grip, there was familiarity and comfort. Roads that curved around valleys, wooden homes built by generations, and friendly greetings from neighbors created a winter full of warmth. And somehow, walking on frozen paths never felt dangerous; it felt natural, almost effortless, as if mountain children are born with an internal balance system that city sidewalks could never challenge.
Winters in Moscow: A Dramatic, Snow-Powered Reality Check
Then came Moscow. The first winter here was not gentle, poetic, or forgiving, it was a powerful reminder that nature has a sense of humor and sometimes uses humans as the punchline. The cold in Moscow does not simply exist, it announces itself. The wind whistles between buildings with a determination strong enough to question your life choices. Snow falls in thick waves, settling not only on the streets but also on your confidence and occasionally on your dignity, especially the first time you slip on a frozen pavement while a calm babushka walks past as though gravity does not apply to her.
I quickly learned that Moscow cold is not merely a temperature, it is a personality, bold, unapologetic, and ambitious. What once sounded dramatic in news reports suddenly became everyday reality. I found myself thinking, “So this is what my elders were worried about.” Yet even in its harshness, the Moscow winter held a strange beauty, one that slowly revealed itself with time.
Finding Warmth in Unexpected Places
Yet Moscow also offered warmth in unexpected corners. Those small kiosks near metro stations became tiny havens where I found relief from icy winds. Stepping inside, the sudden wave of heat, the smell of fresh pastries, and the friendly nod of the vendor soon became part of my winter routine. I often laughed at myself, I came from snow-covered mountains, yet here I was, silently thanking a kiosk for saving my fingers from frostbite.
Hot cappuccinos, buttery pastries, and the familiar hum of commuters became comforting rituals. Over time, I developed a soft spot for these kiosks. They became symbols of survival, adaptation, and even unexpected joy. If Eiffel Tower postcards are the souvenir of Paris, then warm kiosks at –12°C are my emotional souvenir of Moscow.
Two Kinds of Silence
Chitral’s peace is nature’s voice, distant river sounds, gentle winds brushing through trees, and nights illuminated by countless stars. Moscow’s calm, however, is urban and rhythmic. Snow muffles footsteps, metro tunnels hum with quiet efficiency, and parks stand still beneath blankets of white. My first winter walks from the HSE dorms to the metro felt like survival missions, but each day made Moscow feel more like home. At first, I longed for the mountains. But slowly, I began appreciating Moscow’s silence too, a silence born from structure, movement, and the shared unspoken understanding between tired students staring at their laptops late at night.
Learning, Adjusting, and Appreciating
The Moscow winter, though fierce, became a teacher. It taught patience, resilience, and the art of dressing in layers thicker than my confidence on thesis-submission day. I learned to walk more carefully, laugh at slips, appreciate hot drinks as emotional therapy, and find beauty in snow-covered streets lit by soft evening lights. I still miss the mountains, but now I carry them with me differently, as memories, strength, and grounding.
Winter in Chitral taught me comfort, community, and quiet resilience. Winter in Moscow taught me adjustment, independence, and inner strength. Together, they shaped a new understanding of home, a place not defined by geography but by growth, warmth, and the surprising joy of discovering that survival can sometimes come in the form of a hot drink from a small kiosk near VDNKh.
Shared by
Farheen Siddique
