Dear Family & Friends,
The days are fast and furious now, but Friday was an oasis of
tranquility. On Thursday afternoon I flew from Odessa to Moscow then
boarded the overnight train with my translator Katia to the village of
Orsha in Belarus where Vladimir, Raisia, and Larisa's immediate family
live. I simply cannot leave Russia without visiting Dasha, Larisa's nine
year old daughter.
Arriving at five in the morning, Vladimir met us at the station and
drove us in his well maintained Lada the eight kilometers outside of
town to his home. Vladimir is a retired Soviet era bomber pilot and
lives in what was once military housing at a Soviet airbase. Now
converted to a mixture of retired military and civilians, it is a small
village but complete with shops and a recently built school where Raisa
works as a teacher. When we arrived in Raisa and Vladimir's flat,
breakfast was on the table.
Russian entertainment is food, drink, and conversation. We had plenty
of each. Of course, any meal requires several toasts. At 5:30 in the
morning I'm drinking cognac with my Russian family. I wondered to myself
just how long I will last. We visited and ate for a couple of hours,
then Vladimir asked when I would like to have the chicken they had
purchased. Thinking this was for lunch and being quite full from the
salads, smoked fish, bread, and fresh vegetables, I suggested early
afternoon. "Oh, no...", responded Vladimir. "...we will
have it now."
As the food and conversation flowed, I produced my photo album and
with Katia translating we traveled through a photographic history of my
life. Raisa showed photos of their family including Vladimir's military
service and an adorably dreadful photo of Larisa at about age 17. Dasha
awoke and seemed genuinely as pleased to see me as I was to see her.
Just after noon we walked a little less than a kilometer to the family
summer home - dacha - that Vladimir had built himself.
The tranquility of the village and the dacha was framed by the walk
through a small evergreen forest to reach the summer house. At the end
of the road to the dacha just a few meters away is a large pond perfect
for swimming and fishing. Behind the house Vladimir has a large
vegetable garden where they harvest much of their food and trade excess
with neighbors. Last winter I had sent Vladimir several packets of
vegetable seeds and he proudly showed which plants were Russian and
which were American. Much of the food we ate during the day were
American seeds grown in Russian soil.
Larisa's brother Constantine helped with the fire for "shashlick"
which is Russian for Shish-ka-bob. It appears that we had walked from
one continuous meal to have yet another.
When we met in Moscow at the beginning of my Russian visit, I
teasingly asked if they would adopt me as I had not been able to become
their son-in-law. I didn't realize how sincere they were when they said
they would. I asked Raisa a question and her reply was, "You seem
to have forgotten that you are a member of this family." It was one
of the kindest things someone has said to me in a long time.
It is truly a pity that the relationship with Larisa did not work
out, and it saddens me to this day, but I have gained the close
friendship of her family and for that I will be forever grateful. I feel
I should acknowledge that if it were not for Larisa's support, this
friendship would not be possible. I did not meet with Larisa during my
trip, but we spoke briefly on the telephone. It is difficult to change
from a loving relationship to that of friends, but we are working to
make the transition. After the mutual stress of my arrival in Minsk,
things seem to have settled down.
On the walk back from the dacha, we passed the school where Dasha
attends and Raisa teaches. The school receives almost no funding so the
children have a very large garden where they grow vegetables to sell at
the nearby market. This provides enough hard currency to get by.
When we arrived at the flat, Raisa continued to feed us and Vladimir
continued to pour the wine until it was time for us to depart to the
train station. The overnight train ride to Moscow and my flight home was
a bittersweet mixture of all the wonderful experiences of my trip and
the sadness of what would never be. For all that I enjoy my American
life, I will miss this country and the people I call my friends.
Attached is a photo of Raisa, Vladimir, Dasha, Constantine, and me at
the family dacha.
Glenn
PS. I made it through an entire day of cognac, champagne, and wine
without becoming drunk or having a hangover. Apparently there is some
Russian blood in me after all.
