most people lived this way in northern Russia less than
a century ago,” we’re reminded. “You made or grew
almost everything you ate, wore or needed.”
This kind of sinewy ancestral memory helps to
inform the recurring subtext of the bemused remarks
and well-polished jokes of Russian staff and residents
we meet. I recall an exchange with a cab driver in Saint
Petersburg a few days earlier. He lived in Toronto for six
years and returned to Russia because of his disaffection
with “nonstop consumerism”, causing people to buy
things they don’t need and can’t afford. “It also happens
because your educational systems produce so many
idiots.” Staring hard at me in the rear-view mirror
at a traffic light, he seemed disappointed when his
pugnacious statements elicited nothing more than
sympathetic nods from me. So he tried again, “Unlike
you, we Russians are proud to remain a deeply serious
people.” He looked devastated when I agreed. “Yes, you
Russians are a very serious people,” I replied, “and it’s
quite refreshing.” I meant it, too.
In contrast to the sunny optimism of the relatively
newborn colonial countries of America, Australia and
Canada, Russians are a reflexively pessimistic people.
It makes sense to brace yourself for disappointment
when almost everything that surrounds you is a regular
reminder that life is hard, arbitrary and frequently
unfair. Making peace with this reality engenders a wry
sense of humour that dulls the resignation necessary to
stay sane in the face of circumstances you’re usually
powerless to change, too. And so the ironical wit and
truculent pride of the Russians in their country and
culture have become the quiet backdrop of our trip.➤148 GOURMET TRAVELLER