A letter from Russia
Bill, Dan and Jim seemed decent guys. I met them in the Irish pub in
Chelyabinsk. I kid you not, the Irish Pub in Chelyabinsk. Bill, Dan
and Jim are not Irish - they're Americans - and I think they were somewhat
gutted when I explained that there wouldn't be a pub in Ireland with a
name like 'the Fox and Goose', which is what the Irish pub in
Chelyabinsk is called.
You'd think that anyone going to the trouble of
opening an Irish pub in the backside of Russia and stocking it with
Guinness and Smithicks would at least have an authentic sounding name
like 'Murphy's' or something.
Anyway, I left Bill, Dan and Jim
refilling their nearly empty glasses with their tears as they
contemplated the fact that they were drinking in an Irish pub with an
English name.
For those of you who are wondering, the answer is no, I
didn't try the Guinness. To have done so would have been to precipitate
an international eclesiastical incident of catacylsmic proportions.
Finding an Irish pub in the centre of Chelyabinsk is only one of the many surprises on this trip. Another shocker is the food at the sanatorium. Now food is important in Russia as in most other countries. Providing good food, especially for guests, is well nigh a sacred duty in this country so what I say about the food must be understood as the reflections of an ignorant foreigner and not a slight on my Russian hosts. However, meeting gristle pasta for breakfast is a little disconcerting. On my first morning that's what was on the plate. Penne pasta with cooked gristle and gristle gravy. Being new to Russian sanatorium breakfasts I assumed this was going to be as good as it gets and started in to the pasta. The gristle was a step too far. Half way through the pasta a nice lady arrived (the ladies may never smile but it's better to refer to them as nice - just in case they were to take offense), a nice lady arrived with a dish of semolina which was deposited on the table in such a manner that it was clear she intended to return for an empty plate later. I duly obliged and started into the semolina, carefully trying to avoid disturbing the pool of melted butter in the centre of the dish. And it was grand, but I was wondering why I couldn't just have had the egg mayonase thing that other people seemed to be enjoying. But the nice lady must have been reading my mind as she returned a few minutes later with a plate of egg mayonase stuff and in the same international non-verbal manner indicated that this was for me - understand punk! Once the semolina was finished it was into the boiled egg, raw onion and white stuff.
It's different, and it's always different. You just never know what a
day may bring forth. Yesterday at breakfast time dish number one was, I
kid you not, raw fish served with cold (stone cold) potato and raw
onion. Working on the basis that there's a lot of people watching -
including the nice lady - I tuck in. It occcurs to me that it's all in
how you think about these things. If this was Deane's or the Culloden
and I was paying ten quid for a starter of Sushi and traditional mashed
potato garnished with Asian onion I'd be remarking on the clever ethnic
mix pulled together by the chef and I'd eat it, so I remame my breakfast
as a 'Melange of East Asian and Irish cusine - a rare delicacy and
unique treat'. Down it goes.
As the fish is finding a sheltered spot
in my gut in which to lie and fester for a while, dish two arrives.
I've seen this kind of thing before. Usually on the pavemet outside
Hunter's bar on Sunday morning as I'm walking round to church. On
Sunday mornings I give it a wide berth but today it is on the plate that
the nice lady has just put on the table in front of me. Essentially it
is a grey porridge-like mixture of oats and maize over which is drizzled
yesterdays sauce from the sauerkraut and beside which is sitting this
large brown, mis-shapen object - a kind of Russian pastie.
Well the plate was emptied and I'm still here to tell the tale. I
called it 'Beattie's pastie and porridge supper' and it went down a
treat. Mind you I'll continue to give it a wide berth if I meet it some
Sunday morning on the Lisburn Road.
There's probably a lesson in all of this. I suspect it has something to do with changing labels and renaming things so that you think about them differently. It is certainly something we need to be willling to do if we're going to see the world through biblical eyes. What are the things you're going to need to rename to enable you to get beyond personal prejudices and see the world, or your own problems in a different light?
It's worth thinking about.
I trust you are all well and have a good day as you worship together. I'll be spending the day on a train on the way to Mosow and should arrive sometime on Monday morning.