To the Dacha We Will Go!

Ksenia (childhood friend of Olga) and her husband, Valery, invited Olga and I to their family's dacha last weekend. For those of you unfamiliar with Russian culture, the dacha plays a very important part in the family life here. A dacha is a summer house, located in the countryside and normally furnished a bit less extravagantly than the permanent residence (i.e. may not have indoor facilities or running water). In addition, the dacha is not typically suited for use during the Russian winter.

The dacha we stayed at was quite nice and had all the furnishings of a permanent residence, including a sauna in the back. I have to admit, it was nice to get out of Moscow and all the craziness that goes with it. The traffic was terrible, but that is to be expected here.

Things started slowly, with Valery making drinks for the ladies before he and I went to collect and chop wood for the fire (I still have all fingers, even after wielding the axe). Oh, did I mention that everyone was speaking Russian? They call it 'total immersion', I call it 'daydreaming'. But I digress. We needed a fire because the dinner was going to consist of 'shashliks', which is the Russian version of shish-kababs. Fire complete and food in process of cooking. My job here is done. Whilst Valery tended to the shashliks, I wandered off to find the wife (since he speaks about as much English as I speak Russian, our conversations were brief).

We sat down for dinner and Valery set down on the table what I had been trying to prepare myself for.....a bottle of vodka. Oh boy. I'm suddenly having flashbacks to my first visit to Russia about 7.5 years ago when I was initiated into the Russian manner of drinking vodka. Trust me when I say, the flashbacks are not great.

Shot one is done as Valery toasts...something. Ugh, warm vodka. All the memories from that first experience are flooding back into my head. Shot two (about 5 minutes later) and another toast. Seriously, warm vodka is tough on the stomach even when followed by cucumbers. Half way through the bottle and not done with dinner, this is not looking good for the American.

The weather turned chilly, so we moved inside to play some spades after dinner. Olga taught them the gist of the game, since the Russian I have learned does not cover cards. Anyway, Valery assures us that he brought only one bottle of vodka, so that makes me feel pretty safe. After about 15 minutes into the game, Valery and I are winning in strong fashion and the bottle of vodka is bone-dry. I'm happy on both accounts. Then he reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a second bottle of vodka. Note to self, just because he only 'brought' one bottle does not mean that there is only one bottle in the place. Into the second bottle and I am feeling a bit more confident in my Russian (who wouldn't be?), so I propose a toast to good friends and good food. I think I got my point across even though the grammar was most likely pathetic.

Fast forward some period of time. I'm not sure how long because we have now finished the card game (Valery and I won quite handily), the second bottle of vodka and we have started on some homemade moonshine. This is not going to be good. Time to take a walk. Oh sure, why not. I'm feeling very light on my feet. Off we go. While we are on the walk we pass a little store at which time I decided that I desperately needed a beer. Right, that's a good idea. So I get a bottle of beer and proceed to finish that off as well. Now I'm EXTREMELY light on my feet and want to go back to the dacha before I find myself extremely heavy on the ground.

The good news is that I did make it back to the dacha. The bad news is that when I awoke my head felt as though someone had used it as a gong the entire night before. The score is now vodka 2, American 0.