Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
small and babyish, but obviously quite strong. Like Tatyana she was a little bit
cheeky.
Along with dinner came the compulsory shot of vodka, which was produced
with a wry smile from under the table. 'Now, Tim, a little bit of vodka is good to
whet the appetite and wash the food down! But only a little. Baba Galya is a good
girl, she only drinks
chuut-chuut
- a little,' said Baba Galya, with a smile.
'Yes, but I know what a Russian “little” means!' I replied, indicating a full glass.
Everyone roared with laughter.
Baba Galya shot back a glass of vodka and turned to me. 'So, Tim, was that
chuut-chuut
? Would we be guilty if we drank some more?'
'Maybe, maybe not,' I replied.
'Oh you, Tim! Then “maybe” it is not naughty and we will have some more!'
At some point in the conversation, Chris and I decided that Baba Galya was
the equivalent of a local queen. We began to call her Queen Galya, which brought
about more boisterous laughter. Later on, to add to the nonsense, Tatyana told us of
her plans to marry Gorbachev and to visit Australia with him.
Lena was twenty-eight years old, and a unique person in a tragic situation. She
was tall and slim with long blonde hair and striking features. Two years earlier she
had lost her voice and never regained it. Since then she had lost her job, her health
and her boyfriend; and in her own raspy words become 'wooden' because people
treated her like she was devoid of intelligence. When she attempted to speak, it was
in a whisper that was obviously painful. This didn't stop her laughing though. In
fact, happy tears came to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks several times over
dinner.
When Chris and I eventually stumbled to bed we were holding our full bellies.
Baba Galya and Tatyana did the rounds, tucking us in, turning off the light and say-
ing goodnight.
I was woken in the predawn gloom by Baba Galya. She was carrying a bundle of
firewood from outside. It must have been freezing. Soon I could hear the crackling
of firewood and the sizzle of fresh pancakes. I went to sleep again, and was woken
by the sweet smell of hot food. The sun was up and Tatyana was babbling away
energetically. After checking my temperature, I hobbled to the table. 'My temper-
ature is still fine. So far so good,' I said, to the relief of everyone.
Breakfast was no less extravagant than dinner, with delicious pancakes, cottage
cheese and soup. It came with a healthy serve of Baba Galya's favourite food,
sala
,
