House Wine
Without tens of thousands of dollars, securing an apartment for a month in Sydney from Jakarta is a challenge. The reasons are unimportant (a walk-through is usually necessary; most require a 6 month commitment...). Suffice it to say, I was lucky to find one.
Over a cross-hemispheric phone line, the housing officer speaks with a Australian-Russian accent. Assuming my natural terror of the season, she assured me at length that WINTER in Sydney (June) is actually quite mild, even beautiful, "Like the Baltics," she suggests, as if I would know exactly what winter in the Baltics is like.
"Ah, wonderful," I say with great, feigned relief, having already wintered once in Australia. "Well that sounds perfect, then." The studio is technically available, but she has not yet agreed to rent it to me.
At which she asks, with an expensive pause, if it would be all right if a complimentary bottle of Australian wine were waiting for me in the studio?
It would. Except for one week as a guest at the 5-star hotel lounge next door, it's been a dry 4 months. But this question has the clear ring of a test to it. I sense distinctly that things will go much better for me if I pass.
At this point, I am out of other housing options & my credit card has not yet cleared. More, I'm paying $2.50 / minute to phone Sydney from Indonesia, to reminisce about winter in the Baltics: I had to ace this one & quick. What if the answer is NO? Was she screening for 'vices'? Is 'complimentary bottle of wine' a secret Aussie code for something...good? Perverse? Illegal?
'Why yes!' I cry, now with some Russian lustiness, "I would LOVE some wine!" which sails me through, delighting her & disgruntling me with my own knee-jerk willingness to shill for a stranger's irrational tests, so long as it's funny. By the end of such exchanges, I often feel like I've just played a walk-on role in someone else's play, a fictional character: like one who's just spent a long, warm winter drinking wine in Latvia.
Now that we're friends, I venture: "Do, uh, do many people say no?" Yes: homeless people.
"Some," she answers, falling into a more confiding tone. "Muslims. And,"--with an obligatory respect-- "certain people who do not drink. But not Russians--" a reflective, nostalgic pause-- "The Russians, we know how to drink, you know? You might say we are very good at it."
"I've heard that of Russians," I say knowingly, hoping this is polite.
"Yes!" she cries, we are getting along famously now. "WE don't object to wine, do we?"
"No!" Now I'm Russian, too. Good.
"Or to vodka?"
"Hurray for vodka!" I cheer, hoping no one can hear me through the walls, & RIGHT as the noon calls to prayer fire up.
Suddenly the bond charge goes through & the studio is mine. I hang up & resume my entirely sober month, but maybe sold on a vacation to Estonia. I'm sure we'll speak again.
I've had a number of exchanges here that would, at home, be considered tactless stereotypes & unacceptably direct observations of race, nationality, religion & gender that I've grown more accustomed to hearing & saying abroad.
But generalizations (in general) are popular things, rapidly providing traveling strangers with a common Us that can be better--if only in our fleeting imaginations--than our suddenly, randomly, common Them. Even if it is all fictional.
Over a cross-hemispheric phone line, the housing officer speaks with a Australian-Russian accent. Assuming my natural terror of the season, she assured me at length that WINTER in Sydney (June) is actually quite mild, even beautiful, "Like the Baltics," she suggests, as if I would know exactly what winter in the Baltics is like.
"Ah, wonderful," I say with great, feigned relief, having already wintered once in Australia. "Well that sounds perfect, then." The studio is technically available, but she has not yet agreed to rent it to me.
At which she asks, with an expensive pause, if it would be all right if a complimentary bottle of Australian wine were waiting for me in the studio?
It would. Except for one week as a guest at the 5-star hotel lounge next door, it's been a dry 4 months. But this question has the clear ring of a test to it. I sense distinctly that things will go much better for me if I pass.
At this point, I am out of other housing options & my credit card has not yet cleared. More, I'm paying $2.50 / minute to phone Sydney from Indonesia, to reminisce about winter in the Baltics: I had to ace this one & quick. What if the answer is NO? Was she screening for 'vices'? Is 'complimentary bottle of wine' a secret Aussie code for something...good? Perverse? Illegal?
'Why yes!' I cry, now with some Russian lustiness, "I would LOVE some wine!" which sails me through, delighting her & disgruntling me with my own knee-jerk willingness to shill for a stranger's irrational tests, so long as it's funny. By the end of such exchanges, I often feel like I've just played a walk-on role in someone else's play, a fictional character: like one who's just spent a long, warm winter drinking wine in Latvia.
Now that we're friends, I venture: "Do, uh, do many people say no?" Yes: homeless people.
"Some," she answers, falling into a more confiding tone. "Muslims. And,"--with an obligatory respect-- "certain people who do not drink. But not Russians--" a reflective, nostalgic pause-- "The Russians, we know how to drink, you know? You might say we are very good at it."
"I've heard that of Russians," I say knowingly, hoping this is polite.
"Yes!" she cries, we are getting along famously now. "WE don't object to wine, do we?"
"No!" Now I'm Russian, too. Good.
"Or to vodka?"
"Hurray for vodka!" I cheer, hoping no one can hear me through the walls, & RIGHT as the noon calls to prayer fire up.
Suddenly the bond charge goes through & the studio is mine. I hang up & resume my entirely sober month, but maybe sold on a vacation to Estonia. I'm sure we'll speak again.
I've had a number of exchanges here that would, at home, be considered tactless stereotypes & unacceptably direct observations of race, nationality, religion & gender that I've grown more accustomed to hearing & saying abroad.
But generalizations (in general) are popular things, rapidly providing traveling strangers with a common Us that can be better--if only in our fleeting imaginations--than our suddenly, randomly, common Them. Even if it is all fictional.
posted by Anne E. Campisi at 4:28 PM
1 Comments:
At the risk of failing to treat all Russians as individuals with their own quirks and characteristics, and recognizing certain important exceptions to the observation I am about to make (even within my own family), allow me to endorse this particular tactless stereotype: Russians indeed know how to drink. And I happen to have some experience that allows me to confirm that indeed, on occasion, they test others on their willingness (and ability) to drink!
Too bad you were not tested on your willingness to enter a sauna, strip naked, get beaten with leafy fronds, and then roll in the snow. Russians call this Баня (ban-ya). Although, admittedly, this alternative test would have been difficult for your landlord to administer over the phone.
Hurray for Russians!
;->
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