ABSTRACT
On a cold evening in January, 1999, I found myself trying to avoid patches of ice as I tramped through the dark streets of Saratov, the provincial capital in southern Russia. I was accompanying two 16-year-old girls and a 12-yearold boy as they went Christmas caroling. The girls wore traditional rural attire from the early twentieth century: hand-woven wool winter coats, embroidered at the openings, and flowered wool headscarves. The boy was dressed for a traditional Christmas masquerade in a mask made out of animal skins and cloth. I wore a down parka and carried a digital tape recorder.
