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