After spending most of my life in Minnesota (and doing some time in Grand Forks), I consider myself pretty hearty when in comes to colder climes. I can spend hours outside in heart of the Minnesota winter and--unless the temps or windchill dip well below zero--think nothing of it.
I thought I knew cold. But I had never experienced Moscow cold until this weekend. Believe me, it's an entirely different type of cold.
Minnesota can be cold. But usually it's a crisp, dry cold. In the Moscow it's a damp, bone-chilling cold that eats through whatever layers of protective clothing you're wearing and leaves a layer of deep frost on your vital organs.
It's also a subtle cold. It doesn't hit you at first like a sub-zero Arctic blast does. It's a creeping, gradual assault that really starts kicking in after a half-hour or so. After an hour, you're chilled to the core and you won't warm up by ducking inside for a quick warm-up either.
You need a prolonged period in the warmth before your insides begin to thaw. Even then the occasional chill will shoot through your body like a bolt to remind you of the beast that lurks outside. Muscovites know cold.
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