Lesson 3: Modern Russian Culture

Russian Hospitality

Your first impression of Russia may not be good. It would either take place in an airport, hotels, or busy city streets. In these public situations, Russians are at work or in a business mindframe. That means, at any given moment, the facial expression of a serious Russian could be quite intimidating. But this has nothing to do with who a Russian person is inside.

“This closeness of family and friends creates two personas for each Russian: the public one with a hard exterior shell that knows when you must shove, or you won’t get any, and the rich, warm, private one that goes to extraordinary lengths for one of her own. Listen as your sweet friend barks on the telephone to an outsider.” (Gerhart, 1995)

A Russian would give up his or her last loaf of bread to feed guests. During the Soviet times it was actually a little easier to throw extravagant parties. I know it’s not how Americans were taught to view Soviet Russia. Yet, in that system food was provided, and there wasn’t much to buy with your salary. So, spending half a month’s salary on food and drink for a party wasn’t really a big deal. Now, it’s a little different. Now half your month’s salary is used to buy your monthly, normal amount of food, and all parties are saved for, or sometimes collected for among friends. The spouse or parents of the birthday person always give birthday parties. These are big affairs. There are usually three courses to a meal, vodka and wine. All meals are followed by fruit and chocolates served with tea and coffee. But weddings are major events. Food and drink is constantly provided for each guest for roughly six hours or more. The day after the wedding there is usually another party at one of the parent’s homes. And, another party at night, just for friends of the newlyweds. In places like Georgia and for Russians with money, weddings can be week-long events.

When you visit someone’s house you should always bring a little something for the wife or kitchen. Things like flowers, chocolates, pastries, cookies, and candies are common gifts for visiting. When you are expecting guests, you should have the teapot boiling and prepared snacks like cakes or cookies ready. The part of Russian hospitality I miss the most is visiting. Visits are rarely announced. A friend can visit or call your home at any time day or night and expect you to be hospitable. My husband was a cop in Russia, and so I never really knew exactly when he would come home from work. Some nights he would be drinking with his fellow officers until late at night. He would eventually call me and tell me that so and so would be coming home with him. I knew that meant we would be having some vodka and I would start preparing snacks and table setting. The following is a journal entry from the time I lived in Russia and is an account of Russian hospitality.

May 9th, 2002
Kostya, my husband, did not return home until eleven at night. Never mind that he said he would be back at five in the evening. Russians are notorious for their inability, or maybe inattentiveness, to telling time. I was standing in the kitchen and saw a few heads pass by the window. I understood for the most part what had happened. And I felt lucky that I was in the middle of preparing our supper, at least we would have enough food for everyone. I wondered if they had brought the bottle of vodka with them or if they would think of it later. If they had been the efficient Americans, they would have already bought the vodka. Alas, this is Russia. Kostya comes into the house first and pecks me on the cheek. His warm smile was dashing as always and his green-blue eyes twinkling. His friends cued up next to him and stood with big smiles on their faces.

Fyodor and Alosha had come to meet Kostya’s wife, a real live American girl. Better than that, an American girl who willingly stays to live in Russia, a true enigma. Kostya was trying to tell me that I had met these two men before, he worked with them at the police offices. Surely I had to remember them. For awhile I thought he was trying to tell me they had been in the house before, but they surely hadn’t. When he began to describe where their offices where located, I realized that I had meet these two men at the police station, when Kostya had taken to work with him last summer. I politely said that I then recalled our last meeting. So, Alosha and Fyoder stood in their places smiling reassuringly at me. Fyoder tried to take my hand, I thought to shake it, but wait, I forgot again this is Russia. My hands were all chickeny and so I offered him my wrist instead, and he bowed deep and kissed it. I still can’t help it, I blushed. Acting typically old Russian, Fyoder refused my offers for dinner a few times, before the three men had a little meeting and decided that with my permission they should buy a bottle of vodka. If they were going to have vodka they need drinking snacks, Fyoder assured me. Meaning that, of course, they would stay for dinner. It was decided that Fyoder would stay with me, while the two youngun’s would run down to the nearest store. Only a fifteen minute walk away, fifteen American minutes. In Russia, that walk could take anywhere from ten minutes to three hours. They would walk too. Three rubles for the tram was out of the question, it was only a fifteen-minute walk, one tram stop away!

My Russian is almost comically bad. So, once the party had temporarily broken up, I was left alone with Fyoder. Fyoder speaks no English and had a lot to say to me at that time. Out of all the inconveniences I had already experienced and potentially complain about, this is really what pushes my buttons the most. I hate being without a translator, especially when people want to talk to you. It sounds strange written down, but I can’t recall all the times I’ve been trapped by people who just are content to jabber at, asking every few if I understand them. Most of the time I don’t, I try to fill in the blanks between the few words I know. Which is why I say my Russian language skill can be quite comical. So I stood there, cooking and nodding my head, smiling when he smiled, trying to at least look like I’m paying attention. I knew that basically Fyodor was trying to tell me what a good catch I made with Kostya, and that he is very respected by most men at work. And I also knew that he was amazed that I was staying here in Russia, and not even in Moscow, but little, country Volgograd. But the details escape me, and I cannot help blushing at his attentions.

For the moment Fyoder gives up and takes to calling around on the telephone. He starts showing me his little red book, and is telling me something about the women he has listed in the book. It still surprises me; many middle aged Russian men have lovers. And so he begins calling the first woman he showed me in the book. But the call does not go as well as he expected. When he hangs up he goes out in the yard to smoke, and asks me to leave him alone for a while.

Finally the food is finished, and we are only waiting for the vodka to get here. As promised Kostya and Alosha show up a few minutes later. Voila, that party has begun. Immediately Fyoder wants to pour a shot. I rush into the other room and retrieve four shot glasses. I choose four of a set we had just received as a wedding present. When I return to the kitchen, Kostya looks at me and then the glasses and complains, “but they’re new!”. I still don’t understand this comment. I set the glasses down and was then informed that according to Fyoder’s traditions the owner of the house must pour the first shot. This surprises me, as every other party I had been to the person who opens the bottle makes the first toast, the man who opens the bottle, I mean. But Fyoder was referring to me as the owner of the house, a very pleasant change. But Kostya, who was translating again, amended the toast, saying that this tradition was not upheld in the Volgograd region. I quickly took up the bottle and poured before Kostya could complain anymore.

Bibliography

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