Boats and Banya

In the melancholy that followed our return from vacation, I had started to think the wind pushing our adventure sail had started to die. My goodness, was I wrong!   What a spectacular last few weeks of adventure we have had in this city along Volga, but first I need to take a moment to explain a nuance of life here:

In the Soviet Era, there were many, many vacation “bases”  built along the Volga to allow the people to enjoy their holidays.  American’s can best visualize what these vacation bases looked like by thinking of a KOA Campground with the cabins and minus the motorhomes. At the end of the Soviet Era, all of these vacation bases that had once belonged to the people instead ended up as assets on the balance sheets of various formerly state owned companies.  Over the past twenty years, many of these former vacation bases have been bought by individuals or companies and turned into private retreats.

 BOATS, Part 1, The Really Fun Misadventure.    

Our friend Anna works for a company that owns one of these old vacation bases along the Volga River.  Her company’s owners have built their summer homes and some rental cabins at the old base.  The owners allow their employees to rent their cabins or to just come for a day trip to their private beach for free. If you ask me, private beach access might be one of the coolest job benefits I have ever heard of here or in America   This benefit of Anna’s is how we came to be at the beach with Anna, her kids Stepa and Marcia, her dad Alex, her sister Jula and Jula’s kids Paulina and Timor. 

Upon our arrival, we picked out a spot on the deserted beach and started in on the usual routine of the beach.  While Karen and the other ladies sat chit chatting, the kids headed for the water.  Zac immediately started exploring some reeds for any creatures he might discover.  After a short hunt,  Zac found a dead fish and brought it back to where we were all sitting.  While the ladies were less than enamored by the appearance of this poor fish, all of the boys started clamoring for a chance to hold and touch the poor creature.  After sometime, I managed to persuade Zac to throw the fish back and thought the fish tale was over.   Not so fast, Alex found the recently fish and brought it back and started the whole touch and feel episode again.  In other words, it was a typical day at the beach.

While we were eating lunch, which was a feast of fresh vegetables, bread and potatoes, the owner, his name is Ranad, of Anna’s company and the beach came over and introduced himself.   Ranad seemed a nice enough man, but we did not share a common language and I could only exchange pleasantries with him while helping Karen shepherd our boys politely through lunch.   Nothing in our brief exchange or the short time Ranad spent with Anna’s family prepared me for the kindness Ranad was about to bestow on Karen, the boys and I.  

About a half hour after lunch, this really cool looking boat pulled right up to the beach and out hopped Ranad.  After a brief discussion with Anna, Ranad had his grandson Timophee, Anna, Karen, the boys and I on this boat and we were heading out for the boys’ first boat ride ever.   This was just awesome!  We are getting a tour of some ancient wetlands on this super cool boat.  The only problem is that the seat I am sitting is a little wobbly, but Ranad said it would be fine if I did not rock back.  

Ranad was correct in his analysis of the chair, but I had Zac in my lap and his movements were hard to counterbalance.  I was just trying to shift our weight as Ranad was trying to turn into a very narrow channel when the chair gave way.  Zac, the chair and I fell to the floor as one, which distracted Ranad from his efforts to guide the boat into the narrow channel.  Needless to say, the boat missed the channel and tore into the reeds until the boat came to a dead stop.  Shipwrecked would be too strong a word, but the boat was not moving and we were in a pickle.   Fortunately, no one was hurt and Ranad was able to call in a tow.

While waiting for Ranad’s son(in-law?) to come tow us out, we learned that Patrick hates, and I mean HATES bugs.  The Russian version of horseflies (they do not bite, thank God) had been living peacefully until the boat moved into their patch of reeds and they were making their displeasure known to us.  Patrick hated these bugs so much that he chose the relative safety of going below deck on a 90 degree day: I say relative because Zac and  Timophee saw Patrick’s displeasure and took turns opening up hatches that might let bugs into Patrick’s safe haven.  I can still hear Patrick’s howls of displeasure at the open hatches being counterbalanced by Zac and Timophee’s giggles of mischievous glee. 

Once the rescue boat arrived, Ranad and I’s fun was just beginning, because we had to jump into the water and help dislodge the boat.  Once we dislodged the boat, the boat was pulled away while Ranad and I were left staring at each other and the disappearing boat.  Ranad took one look around, uttered the international sound of dismal, chuckled, pointed at himself and said “Sargent, Nicaragua.” I chuckled, pointed at myself, said “Corporal, USMC” (I know, not quite the same as Nicaragua) to convey this was not the first time in the field for me either.  We chuckled, shrugged, used a couple of hand signs and walked out of the reeds.  

As if the whole trip were not interesting enough, I was greeted in perfect English by Ranad’s son, “Jack,” as I was walking/swimming up to the rescue boat.  There I was waste deep in murky water, attempting to introduce myself in Russian when Jack said, “Come on, get out of the water…”  I have had a lot of weird moments in Russia, but Jack greeting me with perfect English in the middle of the Volga might be the most incongruous moment of them all.  Nevertheless, we made it back to shore and, because no one got hurt, the whole escapade became a good sea story.  

BANYAS

By now, most readers of this blog know of Alex.  Alex is the grandfather of Stepa, karate classmate of the boys, and we have become good friends despite the fact that Alex speaks no English and my spoken Russian is about 400 words max.   I can basically understand Alex if I am only trying for the basic idea, but I am quickly lost in translation if I try to follow him word for word.  

Last week, Alex invited me to go to a banya (like a Finnish sauna, but less hot) with him his oldest friend, Naom.   I was quite honored to be asked and I accepted with both joy and more than a little nervousness.  I was happy to receive this invitation because I understood how central the banya is to the Russia culture (the earliest historical reference is the year 1113)  and I was getting an opportunity to experience it first-hand.  I was a little nervous because I knew next to nothing of what to expect out of a banya.  Combine my blind ignorance with the fact that I was also meeting Alex’s oldest friend Naom, they have been friends for 47 years, and one can understand my being just a little bit apprehensive.  

When I accepted the invitation, I had assumed that we would be going to some kind of public banya; I must admit that I had visions of the banyas one reads about in spy novels.  Well, the banya I was taken to turned out to be private; not a private club, a private banya.  Alex’s friend Naom has done really well for himself in life and he has converted the basement of one of his buildings into a banya, complete with game room, full kitchen, cooling pool and full sized banya.  (Alex used to own an engineering firm before the financial collapse of 2007, and I learned later that evening that it was Alex’s firm that designed Naom’s banya.)

I am not usually one who is predisposed to feeling out of his element, but I felt distinctly out of place when we pulled up to Naom’s  non-descript building, went up to Naom’s office and then down to basement where the banya was located.   I was not feeling afraid, but I was so completely without a cultural reference point that I had only one choice of action and that was to follow Alex.  Fortunately, Alex seemed to understand that I was now swimming in the deep end of Russian culture and made a point to explain where we were and to guide me through each step of the banya ritual.

Alex first showed me each step of preparing the banya; he first set the temperature, taped birch branches together and set them to soak in the water that provides the humidity.  We then went to the table and ate the first of what would be four small helpings of fresh fruits, vegetables and ham and then returned to the banya for the first of four sittings.  Our first trip into the banya was just to get a good sweat before returning to eat, but on each successive trip into the banya one of us would use the birch branches to get our skin to really open up and release the toxins therein.  The person who used the branches would then leave the banya and head straight to the cooling pool and jump in; this very bracing experience also left me feeling as refreshed as I can ever remember (In winter time, Russians will jump into the snow or into cut out section of frozen rivers).

In hind site, I am thankful that Alex let me go through the branches and cooling pool first, because it allowed me to unwind enough to actually enjoy the conversation over food for the rest of the evening.   Alex speaks no English and Naom only knows some phrases, but we still managed to have conversations about Naom’s family, American politics in general and some pointed questions about the American Constitution.  One conversation was about law enforcement agencies in America and one of my hosts used several action movies, Rambo included, as reference points.   All in all, my first banya experience started out incredibly nerve wracking and ended up being a nice evening of cultural understanding.

 Boats, Part, The Floating Bar-B-Que

Apparently our first boating adventure had not dampened our enthusiasm for boats or the Volga, because we readily accepted an invitation from Alex to join him on his friend Naom’s boat for a tour of the Volga. In addition to his private banya, Naom, too, owns one of the old Soviet vacation bases and a boat; Naom’s boat is a pleasure cruiser with room for three full sized picnic tables in the back, a banya in the middle (I am not kidding), a sleeper cabin in the front and some else drives the boat while Naom mixes with his guests.  When we arrived with Alex for the trip, we found that Alex’s entire family was coming on the tour and we were going to bar-b-que.

As we were setting off from the dock,  Alex and his two son-in-laws, Anna’s husband Valeira and Jula’s husband Stas, immediately set about getting the coals going on the back of the boat.  As the boat headed out into the Volga, the eggplant and tomatoes were first put on the fire to get a smoky flavor prior to being cut up and mashed into vegetable patte that was to simply delicious.  Karen and I both were amazed to be bar-b-queing on a boat, but it appeared to be the most natural of things to our hosts.

After sailing into the Volga and being treated to waterfront vistas of both Saratov and its wild environs, the boat came to halt in some still water.  While the first wave pork kababs were placed on the grill, the men were all poured their first of many whiskey shots and toasts were given all around. Once the kebabs were on, the men all jumped into the river and we were able to swim in the Volga and work up an appetite.  We were joined one at a time by Patrick, Zac and Stepa, who each took a brief swim in the rather cold water.  Alex’s wife, Tatiana, and granddaughter, Paulina, also jumped in, but they swam over to some lily pads to pick the beautiful flowers growing in pads (Our Russian hosts told us that the existence of the flowers on the lily pads meant the water was clean and safe to swim in.) After our refreshing swims, it was time to eat the amazing food that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

When I write about the food seeming to appear out of nowhere, it is because I am used to the American habit of bringing pre-prepared food like potato salads and chip to a bar-b-que.  Here in Russia, the makings of dishes are brought and the food is prepared on site.  As a result of this distinct difference, the table was set with fruits, nuts and fresh vegetables (there was not a drop of mayonnaise to be found) that do not spoil as the various cooked courses make their way to the table.  By the time the boat went back to base, there had been two servings of pork kababs, a pot full of what looked like crawdads and mounds of fresh vegetables consumed.  If that amount of food had not been enough to give the six men on the boat a peaceful, easy feeling, then the bottle of whiskey finished did the trick (I have yet to see a shot turned down).  

All in all, our trip on the Volga was the type of day one dreams about getting a chance to do.   We saw the shores of the Volga change rapidly from tourist bases to wild wetlands.  We were able to see all of Saratov laid out for us to see.  And, most importantly, we got to spend a day of family and friends on the river that is central to their life in this beautiful region of the Volga.

Random Observation of the Week   

                                                       

Feeling a little guilty saying no to your child’s fifty-seventh request for a treat today?  Maybe this will assuage your guilt:  The next time your child smiles their pearly whites at you, thank God you can afford to provide them with enough calcium so their teeth do not rot from the inside out.  I have seen a couple of instances of children smiling at me with teeth that are turning black from the inside out by the base of their gums.  I have asked if this was due to bad hygiene and was told that it was due to their parents not being able to afford enough calcium in their diets.  I am not sure if this is medically correct, but I have been told this by separate people and told that it was far more common in when the ruble collapsed in 1997.  Whatever it is that causes this, it must be heartbreaking for the parents to see in their children.