By Bon8
I’m in Saint Petersburg, Russia. For 45 minutes, I have been working on the Russians, teaching them the art of rugby. Some of them had seen it before and they were all intrigued. The basics were grasped and they smiled and explained to each other in English, “the ball must go backwards to go forward”. We had used the beer glasses, sauce bottles and anything available to set the scene. The look on their faces when I explained that the World Cup was being played in New Zealand at the moment, and Russia were competing, was something to behold. They are a very proud nation.
The set up was complete. “Yeah, Australia crushed you 68 – 22.” Some of them smiled, others were silent. The biggest guy, sitting beside me, looked into my soul… I could see the campfires blazing in his eye sockets.
”You like to drink vodka?” Vlad asked. “No,” I lied. He motioned to the waiter, “принеÑти водки” (“bring the vodka”). He turned to me, “Vodka is coming, we drink”. I was now feeling a little nervous although I had been training all my life for this moment.
Vlad, it was clear, had been fully trained in an ancient art of vodka warfare and he was about to give me a lesson…
Vodka in Russia, it seems, is more than just a poison, it’s the centre piece of a theatrical experience.
First we made a toast. But not just any toast. There were a series of toasts that each has its special place after a certain number of shots. The toast is from within and when I recited the Australian Anthem upon toasting Australia, they smiled. That’s exactly what they wanted. Theatre.
Then there is the breathing. The technique is to empty the lungs, exhale deeply just before downing the shot. This causes the vodka vapour to surge through the trachea and burn your nose hairs. “WOW”. All this is immediately followed by stuffing ‘black bread’ into your nostrils and a deep inhale (this part of the process confused me). Perhaps it corks the line and prevents the escape of any vapour?
Vlad sensed I was enjoying myself to much. “принеÑти бутылку” (“bring a bottle”) he barked at the waiter. He turned to me and smiled. “The bottle is coming.” Before long, Vlad and I had bonded in song and laughter and the rugby was forgotten, until our waiter brought down the curtain by confiscating the bottle. I had survived, and Vlad sensed his chance was lost, so we agreed that another battle would commence whenever we next met.
I must say, the beer may have been bad in Russia, but the caviar was excellent and the vodka was exquisite. If there was an Aussie Bar in St Petersburg, I couldn’t find it. I did however locate the James Cook Pub. The barman proclaimed, “if you want Aussie Bar, kapoof, it is Aussie Bar”.
The Guinness at the Jimmy Cook was very good but I didn’t dare go another round of the vodka’s!
