Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'Don't be stupid; potatoes are Russian!'
'What do you drink in Australia? Have you tried vodka?'
'What do you think about Russian girls? Are they the best in the world?'
'Have you tried
samagonka
?'
'What kind of money do you have there?'
The best I could do was nod and shake my head as everyone demanded an an-
swer at once. This went on until the master engineer slammed his fist down on the
table. 'You know my workmen. You are my comrades, my simple workmen. We
today have here an Australian. Do you know, men, that in the forty-five years of
my life, including my high education in Moscow, I have never met or talked with
a real foreigner. Comrades, this is a great event. You know we must give him pork
fat, potatoes and milk to go on his way.'
The men were silent, awed. Then: 'Eat, eat, as if you were at home!' They de-
manded, breaking the silence. They felt proud to be sharing their wealth, and I
could see that beyond the slops in front of me there was a heartfelt generosity.
As the drinking continued I blended into the group, asking my own questions.
Misha, who had stayed by me from the start, was a short man with a long wispy
moustache. When he smiled, lines forged deep channels from his eyes like the
splayed rays of the sun.
'Misha, how long have you been working on the bridge?' I asked.
'Oh, about three months, but I will probably work here for another four or five,'
he replied.
'And have you been paid for it?' I probed.
He looked as if I had asked a stupid question. 'No, I haven't been paid anything,
but the boss says we might get paid soon.'
Misha had two children and a wife in a village a couple of hundred kilometres
to the south. I had the feeling that he was too proud to go home without payment,
and yet disillusioned with the work. Typically, like the other men, he had turned to
vodka.
'Well, you know, I get angry sometimes because I should be back home cutting
the hay, working the potatoes. I mean, how is my family supposed to survive?' he
exclaimed, departing from his quiet tone. He pointed around the room. 'Yes, him
over there, he has three children, and that one over there too.'
It felt as if I was seeing a desecration of life. Here were grown men drinking
themselves to death in what was once the playhouse of children; children that they
themselves had at home.
