Sahib, Venison Carpaccio and Red Square

Wifi at the Sanitorium left much to be desired, so here is a roundup of what you missed.

After spending the first part of the trip in Rosa Khutor, it was time to head to Sochi, or more accurately, Adler. In fact, it is pretty likely that most of the people who travel to the Olympics will never set foot in the resort town of Sochi, with its palm trees and upscale homes. Adler, where the Coastal Cluster of venues is located, is considered part of the Sochi region, so the name Sochi Games is not totally misleading.

But if any of you are considering calling your travel agent to go to the Olympics, don’t tell them you want to stay in Sochi. There is only a two-lane road along the coast connecting Sochi to Adler and with Olympic traffic, it could easily be a two-hour trip.

So stay in Adler, or up in the mountains.

And if you need a ride to either place, call Sahib.

Sahib

He is an Azerbaijani whom James met on his trip a couple of weeks back when he was down photographing Putin.

John and I believe Sahib has the roundest head we ever saw. A perfect globe.

James had him come up from the coast to get us and I rode shotgun on the way down. Sahib is just learning English; more than can be said about my Russian.

He had just learned the phrase, “Oh my God”, which quickly morphed into, “Oh my God, Joe.” We hit a pothole: “Oh my God, Joe”. A truck darts in front of us: “Oh my God, Joe.” He sees a pretty girl: “Oh my God, Joe.” He had us in stitches. He definitely made the trip’s highlight reel.

So a trip up to get us and back (just like Alexei), then four more hours of driving us around Adler, or waiting while we got out to speak to locals or to take photographs.

All in all about a six hour day for which he charged us the same 1,300 rubles that Alexei did.

The Sanitorium

We stayed at the Adler Sanitorium, a Soviet era spa-like complex where nuclear power workers would come to vacation or be treated for injuries or illness. James stayed here on the Putin trip. It is no longer owned by the state but it definitely retains its Soviet vibe. The rooms and the cafeteria are in a definite time warp but the gardens in the back are quite nice and they lead down to the beach on the Black Sea.

(Tracy, I thought Bart might like a rock from the Black Sea to help adorn his tank. It currently resides, like I do, on Delta Flight 31 from Moscow to JFK.)

It was a good place to get the flavor of Soviet Russia and a central location where we could walk to restaurants or take a short drive to the coastal venues. On the other hand, the Wifi and the breakfast there, well, sucked.

The Food

I was all about the borscht, or borsch as they spell it here. I was expecting a strained beet soup but instead got something that had cabbage, carrots, peppers and either chicken or beef. I had it three times — or as many times as it was on the menu when we ate.

I will be back, if for nothing else than to have more borsch.

Up in the mountains we mostly ate at the Radisson because the meals were part of the price. Pretty standard fare: Omelets for breakfast and chicken cutlets for dinner. Pretty good, but not very Russian.

Down in Adler and Sochi, and at our dinner in Moscow, it was a different story.

An Armenian restaurant one night  which served Georgian specialties: chicken with walnut sauce, khachapuri (a delicious cheese-filled bread), pelmeni (small dumplings filled with beef and served with sour cream). And vodka.

Several times it was grilled meats: pork, chicken, lamb or beef, and grilled vegetables, particularly good at the outdoor grill just down from the hotel, where another Armenian fires up his outdoor grill about 9 pm rain or shine. Mostly rain.

Our culinary adventure kicked into high gear for our dinner in Moscow, just down the road from where James lives.

First, more vodka. The first shot is drunk all at once (Russian custom) then sipped throughout dinner. Ice cold in frosted shot glasses.

And apparently, what is vodka without a little herring? Or is it the other way around?

Then sliced beets and goat cheese. They like their root vegetables. Winters are long here. Then we got a little more daring and had the venison carpaccio, which was surprisingly awesome with pine nuts and olive oil. We skipped the elk, but had more vodka and toasted our trip. Same time next year.

Moscow

John and I had an afternoon to make the most of the sites of Moscow. First, it was Red Square, then the Kremlin, and then a walk through Gum, pronounced Goom, which is the most enormous and beautiful shopping mall on the planet. Was delighted to be able to take  pictures of St. Basel’s an even more delighted to be able to go inside. To me the Kremlin and Red Square stand for the Cold War, so I was surprised by the number of churches in both. Six churches inside the Kremlin walls alone. They were all built by the czars and have the quintessential onion domes.

The Language

OK Leah, this is the part you skip when I reveal my ineptitude in all languages other than my own. (But I don’t think Leah is worrying too much about my Russian. She is putting the final touches on her wedding plans with Andrew, her beau from previous posts. They marry in about a week.)

A frosty vodka toast for you two!!

Let’s start with the word “restaurant”. It is pronounced almost exactly the same as it is in English: “restauran” (no T sound at the end). But it is spelled “pectopah”. Yes P-E-C-T-O-P-A-H!

OK, here is how it works: P’s sound like R’s, E’s are E’s, C sounds like S, T’s are T’s, O’s sort of like O’s, A’s like A’s and H’s sound like N’s. There you have it: rest-o-ran. Go figure.

Sochi? Spelled Coyn. C=S, O=O, Y=CH, N=the E sound. John and I now just call it the city of Coin.

I cannot spell the name Joseph (shown below from my credential) because I don’t have a Cyrillic keyboard. But suffice it to say it is has a piano, a space invader and a number in it. No lie. Take a look!

James Hill

Let’s just say that this would have been a much different trip without the patience, wit, smarts and savvy of James. He saved our asses.

Besides being good looking, Oxford educated, fluent in English, Russian, Italian and French and one of the world’s best photographers, he has almost nothing going for him. John and I felt sufficiently inadequate. And as John said, “His upscale British accent makes him even sound cooler than we will ever be.”

Dosvedanya, James