Wednesday 9th April: Volgograd to Moscow, Moscow to London, and home, almost, but not quite.

Wednesday 9th April - one of those days in your life when emotions are very mixed. At the end of a very long day, after three flights, the prospect of home - always a good feeling. The planned journey itself can be something to look forward to, or to be endured. The saying goodbye to people and places - the worst part of any departure day.

My alarm was set for 07.00, but I didn't need it. I was looking forward to seeing Daria again, for breakfast, before she went to work and I caught the hotel shuttle bus to the airport, at 10.00. Then my Russian phone  'dinged' - a message from Dasha - she wouldn't be able to make it to the hotel, as she was already at work. It seems that the Minister of Education was arriving at the University that morning, and because she had taken off so much time yesterday, she just had to be there very early. I was so disappointed. You know, that kind of hollow feeling in the pit of the stomach, a kind of hopeless sadness. I received another SMS message from Dasha:

pas de tristesse!!!!!! beaucoup de bonheur , peace and love!!!!!!!!!!!!

And of course, she was absolutely right. My young friends had given me an unforgettable few days, I shouldn't be feeling sorry for myself. And surely it would have been worse if I had to say goodbye, au revoir face to face, again, as I had done on the platform at Volgograd Railway Station, when Iraida had left.

So, I had breakfast, completed packing my suitcases,  and took a small bag of presents down to reception,  so that Daria could collect them later.  When I wrote her name on a label, one of the reception staff smiled and said she knew Daria. I was able to print out my boarding passes in the hotel business centre for the S7 flight to Moscow,  and the BA flights to London and on to Newcastle. It reall is a very good hotel, and given the opportunity,  I would not hesitate to stay there again.

Then it was up to Room 316 for the last time, to collect my belongings,  and back to reception to check out. All that remained to pay for was the 500 roubles for the shuttle ride to the airport. I could see that the shuttle bus was  standing outside, and so saying farewell to the staff fo the last time, I pushed, pulled and trundled my bags out through the doors. It appeared that I was the only passenger scheduled for the 10.00 departure. The driver carefully packed all of my bags in the back and climbed into the shiny 8 seater people-carrier, which itself was very well-equipped. I noticed that it sported the video-camera on the dashboard, which seems an essential in Russia. Do you remember the shots of the meteorite shower falling on Chelyabinsk last year? The ones shot from a moving vehicle? It seems that these cameras are very popular in Russia, and one wonders whether they are there more for insurance purposes than scenic video-photography or the capturing of historic events such as the meteor shower.

The driver made his way on to the dual-carriageway leaving the city, and it was slow-going. We saw the reason ahead -a road-traffic accident had restricted the three lanes to one, half on the outside and half on the in side of the carriageway. We eventually squeezed though the gap, as an assemblage of discontented drivers stood around the vehicles involved in the accident. After that we made good time, and it wasn't long before the minibus pulled up outside the new terminal building at Volgograd Airport. The driver was unable to drop me off directly outside the building, since his pass did not seem to operate the final security barrier. Nevertheless he helped be with my baggage and pointed me in the right direction to the correct entrance. I lugged, pulled and trundled my bags across the paved area outside the terminal, and another helpful official pointed out the entrance. Just within that entrance was a metal detector/scanner through which all bags and mobile phones etc had to go, as well as passengers.

They didn't have to go through the same scanner, did they?

What do you mean?

Well did the baggage, phones and humans all go through the same scanner? I was just thinking, those rubber flaps would give you a bit of a slap on the head if you had to go through in  recumbent posture.

No. Bags through the horizontal scanner, humans through a vertical scanner, and mobile phones simply passed around on a tray. But bear in mind that this was for all visitors to the airport, and not just those arriving and departing via air.

Anyway, the preliminary security successfull negotiated, I made my way to the check-in desks for S7. There was a short queue, but I didn't have to wait too long before it was my turn to hand over documents (including the immigration certificate) and lift my suitcase on to the 'weighing-machine' at the check-in desk. I noticed that the scales read 22kg.

Oops, 2kg overweight. Would they notice?

Oh yes, they would. What about my cabin bag? I was signalled to check its size in one of those "if it doesn't fit in the metal frame you are knacked' devices. The first four inches slotted in easily, but by cabin case does have a protruding section (the lid carrying computer etc) which didn't fit. I think I was just about to be told that it would have to go in the hold, as excess baggage, , when a young guy behind the check-in desk, who was a very official looking unofficial official, if you know what I mean, intervened on my behalf. He shook his head at the slightly more zealous gentleman, and indicated that my bag just needed a label attaching. Because my main suitcase was 2kg over weight for S7, (but 1 kg underweight for British Airways, interestingly enough) I was handed a form by the lady at the desk, and told to go to the Kassa. I regognised this as being the cash- desk. I wandered up the terminal until I found the S7 desk and handed over the paper-work. It appare that I had to pay 300r for my extra 2kg. At £6.00 I was not going to argue.

Ha! I would like to have seen you argue. Might have been quite amusing.

Hmm. Then it was back to the check-in desk with my receipt, which would hve to be checked before my bags could be checked and my boarding pass given back to me. There was some discussion amongst the staff at the two desks as to who was to have the privilege of dealing with me, and paper-work was passed between the two before the lady at desk one decided that I should be dealt with at desk two, where my suitcase was still waiting . With smiles all round papers were processed and handed back to me. I wandered up stairs to an observation lounge, where one could watch aircraft land and take-off. I sat for a while, bought a coffee, and failed miserably to work out how to buy a bar of chocolate from one of those vending machines which needs a degree in mechanical engineering to operate. I mean, come on, two vending machines joined together, one for drinks, one for 'snacky' things. How difficult could it be? Well, clearly too difficult for me. I quickly consumed the drink and consigned the cardboard cup to a wastebin. I then wondered past the "Taste of Azerbajan" kiosk which sold caviar and other fish products, and a small chapel, for those requiring heavenly encouragement before taking a flight. I was looking for the exit to the departure gates, and the security check. Nothing to be found. So back down stairs to the check-in desks, just beside which was a small dark entrance in to the security check area. Shoes off, coat off, belt off, laptop, tablet and mobile phones out. Everything passed thought the scaner, and so did I. The matronly looking lady who stood by the baggage scanner  looked me in the eye and indicated that there was a problem. Ah, it will be that head-torch again, I though, and moved to unzip my cabin-bag. No not in there, I went to my shoulder bag. No not in there either. Here it is, she indicated the offending article, which was in the clear plastic bag for liquids etc. There were only two items in the bag. One was a small bottle of hand-wash gel and the other a small canister of medical adhesive removing spray. It was the latter which had caused the problem, because as the good lady indicated, there was a small sign on the bottom of the canister which indicated that the contents were flammable. She pointed out the sign, saying that such objects contravened the safety requirements. I could only agree with her, and hand over the canister which was duly confiscated. I do hope it was recycled ,and used correctly. I didn't point out the fact that the canister had passed through security checks at Newcastle International Airport, London Heathrow and Moscow Domodyedovo airports. It would have seemed a bit churlish, I felt.

Oh yes, very churlish. Or maybe your vocabulary would have let you down again. Now if you had been ordering a tea with lemon, or a coffee without milk, you would have taken her on, but .....

Maybe she was just being more efficient than all of the other security personnel.

Anyway, having redressed and re-packed, I made my way through into the quite small departure lounge, which was quite full. So this is where everyone was. I had wondered why the 'departure' lounge upstairs was quite deserted, apart from people buying caviar and  icons. Now I knew, they had all gone through security and were sitting comfortably awaiting the call to the gate. That call came quite soon, and in some ways I was glad I had not been able to operate the snack-vending machine, as I might still have been munching on a snack and drinking coffee. I could quite easily have missed the call, and my flight.

We all moved out onto an airport bus which ferried us the the lime green S7 aircraft which awaited on the tarmac. I ws in seat 4A, a window seat. There was a spare seat between myself and a lady occupying 4C, and it seemed that there were quite a few spare seats on the flight. We took off on time, and had an uneventful flight, broken up only by the S7 Snack-box and a hot drink.

Did you?

Did I what?

Did you order tea with lemon?

Of course, and very nice it was, with the chocolatey cake that forms the main part of the snack-box.

There was quite a lot of 'manoeuvring' on the approach to Domodyedovo, with some fairly significant changes of direction which involved much banking this way and that, until having just cleared the tree tops of a birch forest near the airport we made a perfect landing and taxied to the terminal building. Sitting in the fourth row meant that I was able to disembark quite quickly, and made my way to the baggage retrieval area, where I found myself a luggage trolley and awaited the arrival of my suitcase on to the carousel. There as no one to bump into here, as had happened in St.Petersburg, no Bruno Pelletier ( I think he was by that time en route to Warsaw), no Beth Hart, who was probably en route to Australia. Just me, the one who had to find his way to arrivals and then departures, via security and passport checks. These were all negotiated without problem. It was interesting, however, to notice that at passport control, my immigration card was removed from my passport, and replaced with a simple stamped mark. I wonder what would have happened if I had not found that immigration card in Volgograd, and whether i would have been able to enjoy the pot of jasmine tea, with a ham and cheese sandwich, and a triple scoop vanilla  ice-cream at one of the airport restaurants, if that small piece of paper had not been present in my passport.

Yes indeed. A great unponderable.

But I had, and I did. The ice-cream was particularly good - it was the only one I had on this trip. I had remembered for 48 years how good Russian ice-cream tasted, and I wasn't disappointed.

As departure time approached I wandered down to Gate 13 and found a seat in the crowded departure area. As I sat there I leaned my head on one hand, rubbing my eyes with my fingers.

"Are you alright there?"

The voice came from a young chap who had just sat down a seat or two away from me. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you, just a little tired."

"That's good. Have you been here on holiday?"

The conversation proceeded for a few minutes, based upon my supposition that I was speaking with a young English business person or student. I was wrong. I was speaking to a young Russian with an immaculate English accent. It transpired that he was a native of St.Petersburg on his way back to England, to school, to private school, to a very well-known English public school, near Windsor. He had been attending Eton since he was nine, and as he said, it would have been very disappointing if he did not have a perfect English accent. On his return he would be going off on a rowing trip to Portugal with the school. He also made me aware that in meeting him, I met someone from a very unusual Russian family, a family in which no one drank alcohol. That greatly amused him. We had a very pleasant conversation, interrupted only by the call to the Departure Gate. He said goodbye, intimating that he was going to hang around for a while until the rush was over. I interpreted that as meaning he would be making his relaxed way to business class on th Boeing 747 which awaited on the tarmac.

This was the second time I had flown in a Boeing 747. The last time had been the hastily re-arranged flight from Paris to Montréal last August, for which Air France had kindly upgraded me. No such luck this time however. I was sitting towards the rear of this massive aircraft, again in a window seat, with a spare sea next to me, which did give slightly more comfort. Take off was due at 17.15 Moscow time, with an expected flight of 3 hours and fifteen minutes. That should mean that I would have arrived at 17.30 London time, allowing a good two to three hours before my flight from Heathrow to Newcastle.

Ah, 'should have' ... do I detect a problem?

Yes you do, and so had flight staff. A problem with an air-conditioning valve. We didn't know that to begin with, but it was very warm on board the aircraft, and it was getting warmer. Cabin staff paraded the aisles offering glasses of iced water, which was very welcome. The we were all thanked for having arrived and boarded the plane promptly, which should have allowed for a departure at the scheduled time.

There's that 'should have' again.

Well spotted.

The air-conditioning valve had developed a fault, and would have to be repaired before we were allowed to depart. A delay of ten minutes turned into twenty minutes, then half-an hour, by which time it was getting so hot on board that a door was opened at the rear of the plane, to allow a flow of cooler air to enter the fuselage. The first officer was confident that the repair would be completed fairly quickly. In the meantime, the cooler air which was flowing into the aircraft was indeed cooler, around about 0°C, to be precise. I could hear various mutterings come from the rear, from slightly disgruntled passengers.. I needed to make use of the facilities - must have been the iced water. I checked with the cabin attendant if it was ok to use the toilet facilities whilst we were still on the ground.

You mean a bit like using a toilet on a train in a station....

Yes, something like that. Having been given the go-ahead I did, and then had a conversation with the flight attendant  before returning to my seat. It was really quite bizarre. There was the rear door wide open, and passengers in the rearmost rows of seats wrapped in blankets to protect themselves from the freezing Moscow evening air, whilst those at the from of the aircraft were almost melting as quickly as the ice cubes in the water distributed earlier.

Then it started. 
Excuse, me but I've got a connecting flight to Belfast. Will I make it?
I've got to catch a flight to Boston. Will we get there in time?

I had noticed that the replies to these questions, which came from one of the female flight attendants, were delivered in a very familiar accent, clearly from within a ten mile radius of my home. So when I voiced my disquiet, I was greeted with a "I certainly hope so pet, I'm on the same flight as you!"
"Aye, and so am I!" exclaimed a second female flight attendant. Ah well that might give me a chance.

Eventually the fault was repaired, and all we had to do was to wait for the proper paperwork to be completed. I do believe that the repair had been undertaken  and completed within an hour, but the aircraft did did not take off until 20.30, three and one quarter hours late. It meant we were on board for a total of 6 and a half hours - the equivalent of a flight from Montréal to London.  

The flight was good, and I saw some splendid cloud-scapes as we flew south west over Russia, Belarus 

and Poland.  It was interesting to think that in Warsaw some 30000 feet below, that Bruno Pelletier  might well be preparing for a concert in the Polish capital.The flight plan showed that we skirted Denmark before turning towards the south east of England. The next land to come into view was that of the Netherlands and then the coast of England. As I watched the map, I noticed the expected time of arrival changing, and  it meant that as each minute ticked away on the approach, the chance of making the connecting flight became more and more remote. I did notice that the North-eastern contingent of the cabin staff were all dressed ready for a quick escape, so maybe they made it across the airport in the twenty minutes available once we were docked at Terminal 5. For lesser mortals there was no chance. I found my way to the connections desk, and was told that i would be given overnight accommodation in the Sofitel Hotel,which is actually attached to Terminal 5. Nice one, I thought. 
You will be offered a free dinner this evening and breakfast tomorrow morning. 
That will do nicely, I thought. 

Don't forget the British Airways complimentary overnight pack!

Ah yes, I'd forgotten the British Airways complimentary overnight pack, replete with useful items for the traveller in distress.

Do you mean money and whiskey?

No, I mean miniature toothbrush and really miniature tube of tooth-paste, white plastic comb, and a large white T-shirt. There may also have been some shower gel and hair conditioner. I have never seen such a small tube of toothpaste. Clearly meant for one squeeze and one use only, it would not seem out of place in Barbie's overnight bag. Nevertheless, useful.

I made my way through passport control, choosing the e-passport line, which was largely unmanned and relied upon iris-recognition technology. Very clever, and for me, with a new found talent for gazing into the lens of a camera, no problem at all! Thank you Daria and Iraida  for giving me so much practice!

I found my way to Sofitel and to the reception desk and booked in.  Well?

Well what?

Well? No snide comments about immigration cards and passports?

No, none at all. It was all your fault, so why would I bring it up at this point?

The Sofitel Hotel is large. Very large. I took a photo to show how long the corridors are - they seem to stretch to infinity. And there were indoor gardens of quiet and relaxation too. I'm always impressed by a bit of Zen in a hotel, and i seems to be a bit of a theme in Accor group establishments.

My room was excellent, almost too nice to disturb. It was rather late, I felt, for dinner, and I'd already been fed on the aircraft, so I decided to forgo a walk to the dining areas, and having drunk the two free bottles of mineral water, one still, one fizzy, I went to bed.

Breakfast the next morning was a very impressive affair, and provided a most impressive choice. It would have been possible to have eaten enough to last for three days, with waiters and waitresses clearly trained to watch the levels of juice and /or coffee in glasses/cups. Once the level dropped below two thirds, someone was by your side, asking if you required a top up.

"How is your fresh fruit, sir?"

"Is the orange juice the right temperature, sir?"

"Would you like me to cut your sausage, egg, bacon and fried bread into little cubes, and mix them all up for you, sir?"

Really, they asked that?

Well, not the last one, and that really disappointed me, because that's the way my mother used to serve my breakfast when I was a small boy. If I had to mark my waitress out of ten, I could only give her a nine, because she clearly had not been trained in providing the ultimate in customer service.

It was free though.

Yes, absolutely true. Ten it is.

Lifting myself from my set with difficulty, I made my way back up to my room and then walked through the connecting corridors to Terminal 5. I made my way through passport and security controls without incident, and made my way through the terminal to the A-gates, to await my flight to Newcastle. As I walked past the Wetherspoons pub, I noticed that there beer festival was still on. Should I? It was only 09.00, and I had just eaten a huge breakfast. Oh well, go on then. I sampled three beers - the equivalent to a pint, and thoroughly enjoyed all three. I did omit to score them on WhatPub however. I apologise CAMRA.

Then it was a 50 metre walk to the Newcastle Gate. Every television screen I had seen since re-entering the UK seemed to be about the Oscar Pistorius trial in South Africa. After ten minutes of listening and half-watching the prosecutor 'building his case' I move seats so that I could neither see nor hear it. Oscar Pistorius and UKIP, that's all that seemed to be in the news, and are probably two reasons why I don't watch the news very often!

The flight to Newcastle was short and sweet, and at the end of it my daughter Julia and grand-daughter Lucy were waiting to meet me.

I had been away from home for just nine days. Nine unforgettable days.

Tuesday 8th April: an evening by the Volga

Then we walked on and on until we eventually found ourselves by the banks of the Volga. It had been a beautiful day, and down by the banks of the river often known as Mother Russia, it was a beautiful evening. It was the time of that light known as artist's light, when colours take on a definition and hue, much loved by those trying to reproduce them on canvas, or on the screen of a digital camera for that matter. 

The river was like a mill-pond. There seemed to be no movement, no flow. One of my ambitions, spurred on by seeing photos of my young friends in a summer Volga, was simply to touch the water in this wonderful waterway. There were large steps down to the water's edge, and crouching down very tentatively, with my shoes in a few millimetres of water, I was able to run my fingers through the clear water. It was icily cold. Not surprising really. I had my photograph taken.

Not surprising really.

Very true! :)

Walking back up the steps from the water's edge, we moved past a miniature fairground, with a couple of children's rides, and then spotted a small van parked by the side of the road. It was one of those tiny little vehicles being used by mobile baristas the world over, it seems, and I think it was the first time Daria had seen it. I asked her if she would like to go for a coffee, and she said yes, ant that we should go to the American bar that we had omitted from our itinerary on Sunday. It wasn't too far, and soon we were handing our coats at the Alchovski in Marshal Chuikov Prospekt.

Daria reminded me that there was beer available, and it turned out that it was brewed on the premises. So whilst she sipped elegantly on a cappucino, I gulped at a pint of a very pleasant ale, golden in colour. I could not see from our seat how the beer was dispensed - one can only assume that it was from a keg. This was the second Russian-brewed 'craft' beer that I had consumed whilst in the country, and both had tasted very good. Daria disappeared for a moment or two and returned with an English book for me to peruse. It was in fact an English novel,printed in Russia. I can't remember the title, but it was some kind of daring-do story set in the late 19th century, I think. It provided a useful prop for .... more photos.

It was now getting dark outside - time for the illuminations along the river's edge. As we left the bar, Dasha took a selfie of us in the mirror just beside the door. We then returned to the Volga where the classical styles mini-colonnades were illuminated in a soft light. On the way we passed the City Opera House. It looked very impressive. 

Time for more photos and then a slow walk back to the metro, 

and the short journey to Profsoyuznaya. I walked Dasha back to her apartment block and then returned swiftly to the Hotel.

We had arranged that Daria would come round to the hotel next morning, to have breakfast before going to work, to collect a small bag of gifts, mainly sweets from me and more souvenirs from Siberia.

I received a message asking if I had managed to get back to the hotel safely.

Yes, I had.

What a wonderful day!

Thanks Dasha!

Tuesday 8th April: Ivan the Terrible and an excellent day out....

It was strange, going down alone for breakfast on Tuesday morning. Iraida would still be on the train to Moscow, and I was hoping that her journey had gone well. I had heard from Daria late last night, and hoped that I would be able to see her at some point during Tuesday, perhaps for the promised evening walk along the Volga. Apparently the evening light on a good day is spectacular, and then there are illuminations when it becomes a little darker. Outside the weather looked good, with a bright blue sky, and quite a few pedestrians were not wearing hats and scarves as they made their way up and down Profsoyuznaya. A good sign!

I had planned in my mind some activities to fill the day until the evening - some shopping in the Voroshilov Shopping Mall, and some more blogging. I then received a strange message from Daria:

"Do you know 'пельмени'?" (It means 'meat dumplings', although I didn't know that at the time). Followed by another saying that she would be coming to collect me from the hotel in one and a half hour's time. That would be at about 13.00.

At ten to one I received another message from Daria to say she would be there in ten minutes and so she was. She began to tell me where we would be going, and tried to explain. It was something between a mansion and a farmstead. At first I thought it must be a large house in the city, but no, it wasn't in the city. Dasha ordered a taxi, and once it arrived we climbed in and headed towards our destination. As we left the centre of Volgograd, I guessed we were heading to the north. It was another very interesting drive. Imagine a dual carriageway, with at least two lanes on each carriageway. Now imagine the traffic on each carriageway snaking about between the lanes, often in single file. The reason? Potholes! The climate in Volgograd can be quite extreme, with temperatures well below freezing in the winter months and very hot in summer (sometimes 40C). The climate is taking a heavy toll on the roads, and it took considerable skill on the part of drivers to avoid the suspension threatening holes in the road. Sometimes it was impossible, and one had to brace oneself against the bone-jarring impact. Gradually we moved further in to the suburbs and then into the surrounding countryside. 

At one point I caught sight of a strange building in the distance, with a multi-coloured roof. Eventually we turned off the road and drove towards a cluster of buildings in among trees. One of the buildings was the one I had spotted earlier. As we pulled up outside this gated complex, Daria pointed out an enclosure devoted to equine activity.

We entered through a large wooden gate, into what looked like a village of log cabins, built in traditional Russian style. At the centre was a larger wooden building, with a large sign outside. Daria explained to me that each of the smaller buildings was a different example of a traditional village house. We stepped inside one, and found just inside the door a large brick structure, painted white. 

This was the fire/oven/central-heating system all-in-one. There was even a set of steps which led up one side to the sleeping area, directly above it. Clever design!

It appeared, as Dasha explained, that each of these smaller buildings could be booked for meals, for special occasions, because this part of the complex was a restaurant, with the kitchens in the large hall. As we walked around one corner a chap passed us carrying plates of food, on his way to one of the smaller buildings. Dasha spoke to him, I think asking if any of the smaller houses were available. He shook his head and pointed towards the main hall.

As we walked there, I could read the sign outside: 

The Hall of Ivan Groszny. I'm sure you will all know the name Ivan Groszny? No? How about Ivan the Terrible?

Time for a short history lesson, don't you think?

Possibly, but a very short one. Now everybody knows that Volgograd was Stalingrad, but it was only from 1925 that the city bore the name of Josef Stalin. Before that it was known as Tsaritsin, and had been since the sixteenth century, when it was founded as a defensive fortress against attack from the south and south-east by, yes, by Ivan Groszny. Initially, when one sees the name Tsaritsin, the first part 'Tsar' might seem to offer a clue to its origins, but in fact the city was founded at the confluence of the Volga and Tsaritsin rivers.

That's enough for now.

Probably right.

So here we were, Daria the Delightful and Robin the ....righteous,.... rebel,... ridiculous, rat-ar..... no, sorry, no suitable alliterative adjective seems to spring to mind.. in a village dedicated to Ivan the Terrible. At least Daria the Delightful is entirely appropriate.

Howabout 'reprobate'?

Let's just leave it shall we?

It is a little remiss of me not to mention that a major photo-shoot took place in the village that afternoon. Daria equipped with one of my cameras and me equipped with Daria's smart-phone. I may or may not have mentioned in an earlier posting that I was having my photo taken more than at any other time in my life. I would say that I am not the most photogenic of individuals, and have not subjected myself too readily to the lens in the past. Daria, on the other hand, is one of the most photogenic people I have ever seen/met. You will see just a few of the resulting images a little later, but suffice it to say that be the end of this day I was posing like a veteran.

Pretty accurate description!

No, I mean a veteran of a thousand photo-shoots!

We'll see!

Daria led me up the wooden steps into the Great Hall of Ivan. There was a large covered balcony, and an inner room, in which there was a bar, cloakroom and toilets. We were guided to a table on the balcony by a lady in traditional costume. She presented us with birch-bark bound menus, and a discussion ensued between the lady and Daria., who was clearly focused upon ordering me a meal I would never forget. Once the order was placed, we went for another walkabout, and took more photographs. 

After about twenty minutes we returned to our table and found a veritable feast awaiting us.

This photo was taken after our (my) best efforts to demolish the banquet!

 There were two large flagons of kvass. One was made from cereal, and the other from .... I recognised the aroma instantly ... ginger! The aroma took me back to the days of my childhood, when we used to make our own ginger beer, and store it in stone 'grey hens'. Daria allowed me to chose which of the flagons I preferred, and I chose the ginger kvass. She took the other, because she also loves kvass. It is very refreshing, and the added spiciness of the ginger made it even more special. But what of the food?

Where to start! There was a large bowl of what seemed to be borscht. It was in fact: говядина со сливками в горшочке - beef with cream casserole. There were pirozhki, a lot of pirozhki. There were pickled vegetables - red cabbage, gherkins, carrots and tomatoes. Fresh salad. Boiled potatoes with dill. And finally a plate of cold sliced pork with dips. On the same plate as the pork were some edibles I did not immediately recognise. There were long strips of a white substance, about 5mm wide, and similar strips coiled up with a red substance between the coils. Wow. I knew that the meal was to share, but I also knew who would be eating most of it!

Daria?

No!

The kvass was excellent. I began with the beef casserole, looking for a dish into which to decant it. 

"No - it's all for you," Dasha insisted. 

It was gorgeous - very tasty. I ate a pirozhki with the casserole: very good. I helped myself too some of the pickled vegetables (first time I've had pickled carrots and tomatoes) - delicious. So were the potatoes. I was moving in an anti-clockwise direction towards the plate of pork, and the mystery ingredient. The cold pork was very tasty, especially with the horse-radish dip. So here we go, the mystery object - I took one sliver and cut a piece off. As I moved it towards my mouth it suddenly dawned on me what it was - pork fat. I hesitated a little, but not a lot - yes, definitely pork fat, and very tasty too. Lastly I tried the rolled up pork fat and found that the red stuff was a kind of spicy mix, almost like a tandoori masala. Spot on!

You forgot the liqueurs...

So I did. The waitress had also brought to the table, Daria's behest' several smallish glasses with liquids of different colours. These were fruit liqueurs, "Nalivka", with hardly any alcohol in them Daria assured me. One, the clearest liquid was in fact mead. made from honey. I have to say that I thought that there was more than just a little alcohol in these little glasses.

Just a cotton-pickin' minute here. I've just noticed something interesting.

Really? What?

Well, and this may take a minute or two, you just said that you had mead, made from honey.

True.

Well, here's an interesting observation. The russian word for honey is 'Med' (in non-cyrillic alphabet). See! See! Mead - Med. And, don't stop me, I'm on a roll, bears like honey, don't they?

Yes, apparently...

So, what's the Russian word for bear?

Medved!

See! Fascinating aren't they, etymological linguistics?

Well, I don't know, could be. But back to the banquet. Very slowly the food was disappearing, and so was the kvass, and so were the liqueurs. But saturation point has been reached. The solution?

"We will go for another little walk and then come back so you can eat more", suggested Daria. 

I wasn't sure that this would be possible, but she assured me it would be fine. What a good idea! Don't you often feel in restaurants that you could do with a break, but are faced with waiting staff hovering around like vultures, anxious to whip away dishes and shoo you out of the building so someone else can use the table?

"Ah yes, my good man, woman. Just leave our food where it is, we're off for a digestion aiding perambulation around and about.Back in 20 minutes."

Well, that's what Daria and I did. And took more photos, this time without coats, because the temperature had risen considerably. 

It was a very pleasant spring afternoon. I checked my "Russian" phone and saw that there was a message from Iraida - she had arrived safely in Moscow and was at that moment in Red Square with Dasha Z. I tried to send a message in reply.

Dasha was curious at a sudden outburst of giggling from my lips. I tried to text again and each time I tried to text the word "Ivan", my predictive texting tuned the word into "Obama". I showed this to Daria and she burst out laughing too. She was greatly amused. Fancy confusing Ivan the Terrible with the American president! Eventually, with slight editing, I was able to reply to Iraida!

On returning to the table, despite Daria's determination, I was unable to wipe every plate clean. I was proud of my effort, however, and I think she was quite pleased too.

Then it was time for more photos, and to "Faire la beauté", the accepted phrase for anything requiring a few moments in the bathroom.

I was going to say. For you it would take more than a few moments in the bathroom to faire la beauté.

We posed in front of mirrors, in front of samovars and spinning wheels, and in front of garlands of what looked like doughnuts. The bill was paid and we returned to the warm spring afternoon. 

Adjacent to the restaurant complex is another collection of log cabins which provide holiday accommodation for tourists. The facilities are excellent, with swimming pools and terraces with tables and patio-umbrellas.

The main part of this side of the resort is a building very unusual in appearance. There was a separate gate to this complex so we walked the short distance and entered.

Ha ha - see the poses starting!!

After exploring the area around the pool, yet to be filled, and taking more photos, we moved around to the very impressive door to the multi-coloured main building.

The door opened slowly to reveal a hotel reception area. The lady behind the desk looked at us curiously.

"May we look around?" asked Daria.

"Hmm. I will show you the banqueting hall, but no flash photography."

The receptionist led us down a staircase whose walls were covered in portraits of the Tzars of Russia, including Ivan I, Ivan Groszny, Ivan the Terrible. We then entered what seemed to be a subterranean banqueting hall, with vaulted ceilings and tapestry covered walls. It was beautiful, and would make a wonderful setting for all manner of ceremonies. We did try to take a couple of photos, and one, much to the displeasure of our guide, fired off in auto-flash mode. We thanked her profusely and retraced our steps. She walked ahead of us, so we started to take more photos on the staircase and then in the reception area. 

There were Tsars from mediaeval times on the staircase, portrraits of the Patriarchs of the Russian Orthodox church right up to the present holder of the position, and more portraits of the modern Tsars, many or them bearing an uncanny resemblance to our own Royal family here in the U.K.

There were comfortable blue leather armchairs to be sat upon, and to have one's photo taken in. Doors to be opened, and photos to be taken. 

Before we exited the great gateway, Daria had called for a taxi, and by the time we had reached the car-park it was there. Instead of returning to the hotel, we went back into the city centre, so that I could try to buy some souvenirs. We tried one shop which had just closed, and then another which was closed. We found a toy shop, with a little souvenir department at the entrance, and I bought one or two little things. It was quite difficult to find souvenirs without a military connection, but I am not sure airport security would have been too happy about key-rings made with bullets.

Then we walked on and on until we eventually found ourselves by the banks of the Volga. More on this......

If you would like to see a video advertising the resort and restaurant, go to: