I meet the Orchestra manager, a late-40-something year old double bass player and general all round funny guy: in the Russian macho tradition. He promptly invited us to his dacha about 30klms outside Moscow. I would experience his hospitality, and this Most dachas are small plots of land, occupied by a very old, wooden, two story building; or some variation of this.

  Sergei Konyenko's dacha, (his wife has her own dacha) is composed of two buildings; a small traditional shape 'gingerbread house', appeared like a Grimm's fairy tale, -or a Russia fairy tale -- and a larger two story building. Dachas were originally built in communities of seventy. A large expanse of land was given over to a particular profession, Musician, Scientist, Writer, etc. Sergei's dacha was among those owned by Musicians. Patricia calls the areas, Dachalands, the un-official Anglicizing, with a hint of Orwellian humor. The traditional older buildings are decorated with the Soviet official dacha colors, red and green. The windowsills and timber decorations are painted in these colors. Most dachas are a shambles, very untidy with no maintenance given to them..

   Sergei's prized sauna is part of the top floor of the larger of the two buildings, a Finnish type he said, with seating enough in the steam room for 12 or more people. We arrived around midday and Sergei's wife Svetlana Svetlanova started to prepare lunch. Sergei dusted off the Samovar and proceeded to show me how it worked; a traditional Russian instrument for making tea, a stainless steal construction, filled with water. In the center of the pot, a small fire is started for heating the water. The smoke rises through a funnel also used to start the fire. He tried to get the fire going, but the bark from the birch tree was not in the mood for burning. In the end, he got out his trusty electric version: an insult to Russia bravado.

  Over lunch, they instructed me in the ritual of the sauna… It was an afternoon activity. By this time, it was well warmed and the thermometer read 115 degrees. Men enter for 15 minutes; exit and then women take their turn. This alternates for about 5 or 6 times. Oh! Not so bad I thought. It was a pity Sergei and I couldn't communicate beyond childish hand signals, a few Russian words, and his German vocabulary. His body language spoke of Russian bravado; standing to eat while we sat, a Russian mannerism (Slavic?) to show control and superiority -Come to think of it, not so far removed from the Australian male and his backyard barbecue.

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I emerge from Sauna

  In the sauna's accompanying lounge room was a TV, lounge chairs, tables, and a large brown bear skin pinned to the wall. He told me he killed it, however, Svetlana dismissed his exaggeration and replaced it with her own. It was her previous husband. Then Patricia reminded me of something she said the day before; I thought she was joking. We were to exit the sauna, run downstairs naked into the garden, drench each other with two buckets of cold water from the well, before running back to the sauna. -Surely an exaggeration I thought. Sergei was an interesting ' hooliganka', as they say. An Australian synonym would be 'high-jinkster', or 'football player'. During a concert at the Moscow Conservatoire with the Swiss conductor Robert Bachmann, -a temperamental Maestro, to put it politely- There was an announcement for all mobile phones to be turned off. We were sitting in the sixth row, he was onstage cradling his double bass, and he looked at me with a hooliganski grin then pulled his telephone from his pocket pretending to talk. Then he waved at me, ridiculing the announcement.
   (Mobile phones, car alarms, chewing gum and Karaoke, sums up the 'New Russians', -the under 30's- they love all the gaudy things that Westerners have come to hate.)

  We entered the dark sauna, sitting, with only the barest illumination and less clothes. Sergie was a runner and he called me "Marafonets", Russian for ' marathon man'. Patricia, and his wife Svetlana, said the Russian bravado he exhibited was partly to counterbalance the awe he seemed to have at people who run marathons. He would always drink full shots of vodka, rip large chunks of meat from the bone with no table manners, eat raw bacon, and drive like a madman. (Every one eats raw bacon, called Salo)

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Waiting Her Turn

  It was only my second sauna experience and it was so hot that it burnt my nostrils. I had to sit on the lowest step while he sat at the top! After 15 minutes we exited, ran downstairs into the garden where he opened the paling fence door, atop of the Grimm's fairy tale well: complete with winder and bucket. Then said something like "get ready", as he threw it over me. It was ground water and freezing! He motioned that I should turn around, dropped the bucket back down the well, hauled it up, and threw it over me again. As I turned, I saw the neighbors in their garden and the young daughter all seemingly unperturbed by our exhibitionism.
The irony with this exhibitionism is that Russian men do not wear shorts. I was warned not to bring my shorts to Russian because I would stand out too much if I wore them. Huh!! Paltry excuse, it's my curly hair that gives me away. I have only seen two males with curly hair to date.

   Speaking of standing out: A group from Patricia's office went to the New Tretyakov Gallery to see the Brullov exhibition. --A brilliant 18th Century French painter who spent many years in Russia- We hired a guide to take our party of 7. Her commentary was in Russian and I just looked interested as she stared at me relaying her vast knowledge of art history. We came to a life-size painting of Narcissus reclining on a rock. It was a wonderful example of the great classical Greco-Roman figure in painting.
   At this point, I was a little bored with not understanding her long-winded discourse. Then laughing, they focused their attention on me. Patricia said the guide was talking about me as an example of the classical Greek figure in painting. Then I joined the laughter. The figure in the painting just happened to have curly hair and similar face i.e. distinctly non-Russian features. The shape of the Slavic head with it's features, contrast greatly with my Anglo features, and they are many, I are few. Our friend Erina, calls me 'Little Apollo', with my "Ancient head", as she says, meaning classical shape)

  After the drenching at the well, we walked back inside to dry off, to sit, watch the television with some tea, and wait for Patricia and Svetlana to come out. Russian tradition says that women should go out to the well, although we excused them on this occasion. Sergei left two large buckets of cold well water in the shower, next to the sauna. They refused the invigorating experience, Huh!, came our response. We went back into the sauna for 10 minutes and then back to the well, 5 times. It cleans out your respiratory system and pores.