Tuesday 7 February 2017

Bread with Tea and Jam.

I can't believe I have gone this long without mentioning the fact that Russians put jam in their tea.

Yes, my reaction was the same. As Maria very clearly states, tea is a drink you have with jam and bread, you don't have tea and jam with bread - surely that would just result in dry bread stuck in your mouth. I was recently confronted with this very issue on a 10-day residential course I did outside Moscow where the breakfast lay out placed the three pots of jam next to the sugar, lemon slices and endless boxes of herbal tea, as opposed to next to the bread and porridge where one would expect it and I proceeded to see others load spoonfuls of it into their cups. The next trick is then trying to figure out which jam is meant for which tea. When greeted with a selection of at least ten different various combinations of herbs, which are supposed to help you with this and that ailment, yet that all look very much like the same green, flowering plant on the front and with unrecognisable names, you can imagine the dilemma I found myself in. Especially having been promised that one of the teas was a very strong laxative - I didn't want to be caught unawares.* I only managed to recognise peppermint among the boxes, before digging out some black tea from the back and deciding to play it safe. The tea and breakfast excitement didn't end there as I was caught unaware by the boiling hot milk meant for my tea, which meant that I had to quickly recalculate the time required to wait for my ideal drinking temperature. I was further confused by the great vat of grated carrots peppered with rogue pieces of apple. For breakfast?! To be honest, there are grated carrots in everything here - it is after all the perfect accompaniment to beetroot, cabbage and potatoes.


It certainly is interesting to compare breakfast products in the various countries I have been to. I took advantage of being in Western Europe over the holidays and the fact that a plane ticket with Ryanair can cost less then a return train ticket to London and went to visit a friend in Madrid. Miles away from the world of grated carrots, the Spanish like to treat themselves to a very sweet pastry with freshly-squeezed orange juice or sugary churros dipped in melted chocolate. If that isn't every child's breakfast dream then I don't know what is. Not one to shun other cultures or ways of living, I was more than happy to oblige and found a great bakery called La Mallorquina - founded in 1894 ! - and it became my first stop every morning. A wonderful thing about Madrid is the metal plaques you will see everything now and then on the pavement outside a shop or business marking over 100 years of service. It means that in that very spot, the same business has been running (not necessarily the same family but selling the same produce/service) for at least 100 years and so can usually guarantee a certain degree of quality. What a brilliant way to keep smaller businesses going and for people to support those businesses. I learnt that keeping your eyes peeled to the floor can also help you find the best places to eat, according to the number of napkins littering the floor - throwing your napkin on the floor after finishing is seen as a sign of appreciation for the food. I tried to be as nonchalant as possible when I went to do it but felt a strange guilt for having created more cleaning up work for the owner. The few days gave me a wonderful taste of a life where there is sun all year round and temperatures stay above 0. Currently sitting in my room as I dread the -21°c awaiting me outside does make me wonder if I should rethink my choice of city. Although I don't know if I could stomach the amount of meat and sugar that seems to make up a large part of the Spaniards' diet. Living the la vida loca indeed.



Back in Moscow with a fresh load of supplies from a well-known English supermarket, my mouth and tongue muscles are slowly getting back into shape as they once again get used to working their way around the unnecessarily (in my opinion) long words. Language is always a reflection of the people and, in this case, it is certainly no different when comparing English and Russian ways of doing things and getting things done. Take a word like to 'chat' or 'talk', the Russian equivalent would be разговоривать (raz-ga-va-ri-vat), or 'sequence' in Russian would be последовательность (pass-le-daw-va-tel-nost), or to 'adapt' - приспосабливаться (pri-spo-sab-lee-vat-cia), I could go on. I'm not saying that it's not a beautiful language, in literature especially, but it also a wonderful reflection of life here. If everything takes twice or thrice as long to say, it also takes just as much longer to do. Such as topping up my transport card for the bus. Having asked at the metro ticket offices, where I could add the monthly fare for the buses to my pass, I was simply told repeatedly 'This is the metro', 'Yes, I know but the transport network is one big company so where could I get bus fares', 'I dunno - not here', 'Wonderful, thank you for your help.' Three months in and I finally managed to find out about a kiosk not far from my mum's place where I can do it. (Why there are no locations in the centre are beyond me.) Battling the windchill which makes it feel about 10 degrees colder, I finally located the brusk woman sitting in her little kiosk box in the street - only to realise she only takes cash. What's life without being kept on your toes for that little while longer, eh?
Transport always seems to crop up in my stories and this time is no different. Reaching the 10-day residential camp involved taking a train (elektrichka) 2 hours east of the city (although it still counts as the region of Moscow) to a place called Avsyunino. I spent the whole journey there wondering if I was on the right train and would have missed it, had they not announced the name just in the nick of time, as the platform consisted of a one long piece of concrete seemingly placed at random between the two tracks without any signage or information whatsoever. I was also very aware of the fact that my suitcase and I could easily fall through the gap between the train and the platform edge and was glad that long jump had been a strong point of mine at school - and I thought all those afternoons doing athletics wouldn't come in useful. I was later informed that this was quite common and my experience was repeated only yesterday as I went further out of the city to collect a clothing rail and found the 'exit' was getting off the platform and walking along side the tracks until you reached the main road. 
Making the most of the last few days before term starts, I have spent each morning at the arthouse cinema that is now right next door. No more mono-voice Russian dubbing over the top of the films for me! The morning tariff means I can see a film for the equivalent £1.36 (CAN $2.22) and thanks to the system of assigned seating they have in cinemas here, I can buy my ticket the day before and always ensure the best spot without having to sit through adverts beforehand. Though usually an evening activity, I find seeing a film in the morning much more productive as a great reason to be up early and it also means I don't fall asleep half way through. Exploring the new area, I found a new bakery down the street that has a morning coffee and croissant deal. Looks like I might have found myself a lovely new morning routine.
Mucho amor,
A xxx
*I found out at the end that it was this one, for anyone who's wondering: http://www.therighttea.com/senna-tea.html 

Driving in English countryside and see nothing for miles until we arrive to the top of a hill to find a pub and an overflowing car park - only in Britain
Rare experience of the English coastline (for me at least)
Someone appears to have missed the bin
Spanish "winter" in its full glory
In the 17th century, this hostel used to provide a hairbrush attached to the side a the bed and this was considered a huge luxury for nomads of the time
Direction unconfirmed
How to get fresh water when living the in the country 101
Just waiting on the platform in preparation for hailing down the next train to Moscow
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