A new season of “samovar discos” has kicked off in Ufa, the capital of Russia’s Republic of Bashkortostan. The tradition began five years ago, when a handful of young people met on the Ufa embankment to share tea and music. Today, the gatherings draw as many as 2,000 people at a time. Journalists from the outlet Novaya Vkladka recently explored why these parties appeal to young people and how they bring together locals from different backgrounds. Meduza shares a translation of their report.

On the banks of the Agidel River in Ufa, the sound of a quray, or traditional Bashkir flute, floats through the air. A samovar stands near a makeshift stage, young people are preparing a firepit, and girls in traditional Bashkir dresses are setting out sweets and bottles of koumiss — fermented mare’s milk — on a table. Some of the men are wearing traditional Bashkir hats with fox tails, and someone has even brought Republic of Bashkortostan flags.

Despite a light drizzle, hundreds of people begin to arrive for this “samovar disco” (samauyrly ritaim, in Bashkir). Rustam Abdrazakov, one of the organizers of these tea-and-dance parties, says the idea came to him in Turkey, where he once saw a group of young Kurds drinking tea from a samovar right on the street. While samovar tea gatherings are common in Bashkir villages, the tradition hadn’t really taken root in the cities. Abdrazakov thought, why not bring it to Ufa?

On June 17, 2020, about 15 people came together for the first samovar disco on the Ufa embankment, including accordionist Karim Muratov and quray player Gayaz Yalmurzin.

“Having a tea gathering in the middle of the city felt both authentic and like it had real potential as an event,” Abdrazakov tells Novaya Vkladka. “I invited some like-minded friends, hiking enthusiasts, to meet up near the Friendship Monument. Everyone loved it. We fired up the samovar, sang songs, and danced. There was no equipment, just a cozy get-together with tea and music. Before long, we were meeting every Wednesday — and every time, more and more people showed up.”

‘I fell in love with it’

The samovar discos now take place on Wednesday evenings every other week. Abdrazakov believes these dance gatherings are especially important for young people from rural Bashkortostan, who typically move to Ufa for university and often start feeling self-conscious about speaking their native language, gradually switching to Russian. Events like these, he says, give them a chance to find connection — and maybe even fall in love:

At [the parties], young people spend three to four hours speaking their native language freely. Over the past five years, 12 to 13 couples have met through these gatherings — some now come with their kids. Urban Bashkir youth who don’t speak the language fluently are becoming more curious about it, and about their culture and music.

At first, fewer than 50 people would show up to Ufa’s samovar discos. Now, it’s often up to 1,000 or sometimes more. Dance groups, musicians, and bloggers are invited to join. People drink tea, sample beshbarmak (a traditional noodle dish), recite poetry, and sing traditional and contemporary songs in Bashkir.

The highlight of the evening is ritaim, sometimes described as a “Bashkir-style mosh pit.” As the rhythmic traditional music builds — complete with a signature drumbeat — the crowd melts into a single mass of dancing bodies.

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Alina Zagidullina first heard about samovar discos on social media after leaving Russia in 2022. When she eventually returned to Ufa, she started attending the parties. “I regretted not paying more attention to Bashkir culture before. But when I returned, I fell in love with it,” she says.

I was amazed that people were singing not just traditional songs but also tracks by modern artists like Timur Yamalov. The most important thing here, of course, is preserving the culture and the language. Most people at these events are young, and they’ll pass this on to their children. And it’s also just a fun, sober hangout—where people make friends and find partners.

Another regular, Idel Gumerov, appreciates that the gatherings are alcohol-free and open to everyone at no cost. For him, the tea parties have become a welcome break from the daily grind and a place to connect with other people.

I hoped I’d run into some people I know who are into, let’s say, ethno-activism. And it’s also just a breath of fresh air in a city where, between home and work, all you’ve got is crowded public transport. As a Tatar, I understand Bashkir — though not every word. Sadly, I only speak Russian, and sometimes I slip into Tatar by accident. But there’s no language barrier here. There’s a different language at work: the language of emotions, of dancing, of songs, of glances and smiles.

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‘If the government takes this over, it’ll immediately be turned into propaganda’

Today, samovar discos are held even in remote towns across Bashkortostan, and videos from the Ufa embankment rack up thousands of views on YouTube and Instagram.

Still, it’s unclear whether these dance parties receive any state support — a question frequently raised by social media users. In January 2024, at the very same spot near the monument to Bashkir national hero Salavat Yulaev, hundreds gathered for an event similar to the samovar parties, with circle dances and Bashkir songs. That time, though, it was a protest in support of jailed activist Fail Alsynov. Riot police broke up the gathering, and many participants were violently detained.

The party organizers insist their events are funded through donations and dismiss questions about state backing as “provocations.” The regional Culture Ministry has also stated it has no involvement.

“That’s exactly why people are drawn to it — regardless of age or background,” says Tansulpan Burakaeva, the founder of a Bashkir language club who sells her handmade jewelry at the events. “If the government takes this over, it’ll immediately be turned into propaganda.”

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In Burakaeva’s view, the tea-and-dance gatherings are both an expression of nostalgia and a revival of a deeper tradition. “In Bashkir villages, kiske uin, külägä, or ritaim, were traditional events where young people met, where people relaxed after long work days,” she explains. “And during wartime or other difficult moments, they used dance — typyrlau, or stomping dances — to release their pain. That’s why today’s ritaim, organized by a group of grassroots activists, has struck such a chord.”

Still, not everyone is happy about the lively dancing near the Yulaev monument. Under one media post about the samovar discos, some commenters called the gatherings inappropriate given the current political climate.

Last year, a Telegram user wrote:

In 1967, American youth were out protesting the Vietnam War — and in Ufa, they’re throwing samovar discos. People have loved ones who were drafted, some have come back in coffins. Kursk is under attack, the whole world is burning. And this is what they find fun? Pretending nothing’s happening?

Others in the thread agreed, but one person offered a different perspective:

Remember how performers used to go to the front lines to put on concerts? Living in a constant state of war is unbearable — people need some way to take their minds off it.