Spray Paint and Siberian Wind: My Week in Vuktyl

i got off the train in vuktyl with my spray cans rattling and a headache from the three liters of bad coffee i'd consumed. the air hit me like a wall of wet wool. 1.28 degrees celsius? my app said. feels like minus 2.44. humidity one hundred percent. basically, it was a fog that could've been soup. i just checked and it's socked in with a wet mist that clings to your skin like a shroud.

the town is a speck on the map that's basically a rectangle of concrete and steel. if you need to see exactly where, here's the god's eye view:

. those coordinates are the only thing that makes sense here.

vuktyl is a company town, or at least that's what the graffiti on the oil plant fence suggests. giant pipes venting steam, trucks that look like they've been through a war, and rows of prefab apartment blocks that all look the same. i swear i saw a bear just meandering down the main street, but i was probably sleep-deprived. the smell is a mix of metal, burnt sugar, and something vaguely like wet dog. i'm here to paint a series of murals about the decline of the soviet industrial dream. i picked spots on the sides of these tank farms, but the cold is a nightmare. spray cans freeze if you hold them too long; i keep them tucked in my armpit like a newborn. the paint runs slower than the local internet. my hands are numb, but i push through because the wall is calling.

the landlord gave me keys to apartment 47-94-11 in building 47. the number might be a clue to some secret, but i'm pretty sure it's just the soviet way of making you feel like you're in a spreadsheet. inside, the radiator hisses and the windows are single-pane; i'm sleeping under three blankets and a parka. i recorded the arrival time as 1643005165 unix time, which is 23 jan 2022, 16:43:25 utc. that's when the light did that flat, grey thing that makes everything look like a faded photograph. it's the kind of light that makes you question your life choices.

if you get bored, the nearest city with a proper supermarket is ukhta, about an hour's drive on a road that's more pothole than pavement. during the thaw, it's a convoy of mud. the locals say you can make it to syktyvkar if you're brave, but that's a six-hour odyssey through tundra and questionable diet of truck stop pelmeni. the train line is the only lifeline, and it only comes twice a week. i tried to hitch a ride once and ended up in the back of a lumber truck with a guy named sergei who spoke only in proverbs.

i heard from a drunk dockworker at the only bar that the town's 'museum of natural history' is actually a front for a secret vodka distillery run by the mayor's cousin. also, someone told me that the best banya in town doubles as a bear wrestling arena on tuesdays. take that with a grain of salt-or a dash of snow. the bar itself, 'the northern light' or something equally ironic, smelled of old cigarettes and despair. i sat there nursing a cheap stout and listening to two old men argue about whether permafrost is a communist conspiracy. one of them claimed the number 479411 was the code for a secret underground储藏室 where they hide the good vodka. i just nodded and finished my drink.

i tried to consult tripadvisor before coming, but the highest rated attraction is a 'view of the cooling towers' that got a 2-star review because it's 'cold and there's nothing to do.' check the tripadvisor page for komi republic if you don't believe me. yelp suggests a pelmeni joint called 'dacha' but i got chased by a cat with a knife-just kidding about the knife, the cat was just really fluffy. the local board, komionline, has a thread titled 'why is our town so depressing?' that's a fun read. i also found a youtube video of a guy touring vuktyl in summer, but it looked like a different planet.

here's what it looks like when the sun (if you can call it that) peeks through:

. that photo could be from anywhere, but you get the vibe. the bar interior shot is even gloomier:

. i'm not even sure if that's the same town, but who cares.

so, should you come here? only if you enjoy subzero canvases, surreal conversations, and the feeling that you're on the edge of the world. pack extra gloves, a thermos of something hot, and maybe a flash drive with your work-there's no gallery here, just concrete and wind. and if you see a number spray-painted on a wall that says 479411, that's probably someone's idea of a prank. ignore it. i've been here three days and i still can't decide if i love it or want to catch the next train out. maybe both. that's the vibe.

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