Pereslaval-Zalessky, Russia

                       
                                       

                             

                                                          Goritsky Monastery

    During the winter of 1990 I was in Russia lecturing, consulting  and living in the Frigate Hotel. The Frigate a modern Soviet hotel had been built in the 1970s.  My room on the fifth floor was quite warm and pleasant. I had a bathtub, toilet, television and a large window looking out back at nothing special, some yard and part of a building. But every day there were snow showers and I could watch the snow swirl and drift to earth. My electric coil allowed me to make a cup of hot coffee and I always had bread, jam and a few snacks available. Truth is I was very comfortable.  On Sunday my day off, I would rise, bath, snack and maybe watch a little TV as I hand washed clothes in the bathtub. By roughly 11:30 AM I was ready to hit the streets.
     The Frigate Hotel was located on the west side of the Yaroslav highway as its two lanes passed through the city from Moscow in the south to Yaroslav in the north and on to Archangel. Across the highway from the Frigate and one block south was a single story buffet that was the less expensive
alternative to the Hotel's restaurant. It was popular with truckers, workmen, a few local residents and me. I climbed one snow bank, crossed the slick street, climbed another, then padded down the sidewalk on an inch of ice and entered the buffet. The decor inside was Soviet brown with simple tables and chairs, all with uneven legs. The food on the steam line seemed to be all brown. Beige meat sat next to brown stew next to brown vegetables - I was never hungry enough to load up a plate and find out what was what. My food selection was simple and always the same, a cabbage soup with pieces of meat, a roll and tea. The soup was always delicious, the roll large, doughy and great for dunking, the tea hot with  rich flavor.
     At the end of the steam line sitting at a small table was a rotund woman, an ubiquitous "babuska"  (a "grandmother"). In front of her was the cash box. Every now and then she would shriek at a customer usually for not having the correct amount for their purchase. I the visiting westerner found it amusing. The customer might feebly protest but most simply took the tongue lashing and then sat down and ate. No one ever seemed to leave the buffet in a pleasant mood - faces reflected indifference and irritation.
     It was perhaps my third or fourth visit to the buffet - I carried my tray to the babuska with the cash box. Without thinking or even trying to approximate what was due I placed a five ruble note on her table. The screaming hit me like a shock wave. I stood there not exactly believing that I was the object of her tirade. But indeed I was. Then the storm passed. She reluctantly made change, shoved it at me and looked away. Slightly shaken I moved to a table to eat. As I sipped my tea the shock of the assault was slowly replaced by a warm sense of belonging. The babuska had treated me exactly the way she treated almost everyone. I was now a buffet regular, just another guy to yell at, an ordinary Russian. I exited the restaurant ramrod straight, deeply pleased and with a dark, somber face.