A Tale of Two Bottles

I was recently asked to offer some thoughts on the theme, “Turning Points.” I immediately recalled two graphic turning points in my life. Both, as it turns out, had to do with a bottle.

Leningrad, 1982. It was the end of my first trip to the Soviet Union. As I stood in the hotel lobby, waiting for the airport bus, my last 20 ruble~s smoldered in my pocket. Across the lobby, I spotted a kiosk offering kitschy souvenirs and a small, 10 ruble bottle of vodka. Perfect.

“The bottle of vodka, please,” I said, placing a ten ruble note on the counter. 

“Nyet,” the surly saleswoman snapped. “No vodka.”

“Yes, there is vodka,” I smiled. “It’s there on the shelf behind you. 10 rubles. Vod-ka,”  I pronounced slowly in a thick Russian accent, vodka being one of the eight words in Russian I knew at the time.

“Nyet,” she repeated, not bothering to look where I was pointing. “No vodka. Misha bear ten rubles.”

“No, I don’t want a Misha bear. I want vodka. Why no vodka?”

“Vodka nyet.”

At that moment, all that I had failed to comprehend about Russia during my visit was telescoped into that singularly unobtainable bottle. The mystery of the saleswoman’s obstinance haunts me to this day.

I took the bear and did not return to Russia for seven years. 

In the interim, spurred by everything that bottle represented, I began my intensive study of Russia… and Russian. 

Moscow, 1989.  A few weeks after arriving in Moscow to run a Soviet-Western joint venture, I decided to walk from work to my hotel.

It was a long walk on a hot day, and I soon became parched. Spotting a produce store, I popped in, looking for something to drink. I found a shelf full of bottles, their labels decorated with apples. Just the ticket. Not wanting to look foolish, I didn’t ask about the unfamiliar brand name – Yablochny Uksus. 

Stepping outside, I popped the bottletop on the sharp edge of a stone planter and took a huge swig… then lunged toward the bushes, spitting as I stumbled. Examining the label more closely, I sniffed the contents, then cooly deposited the almost full bottle in the trash.

These two turning points taught me three important lessons about Russia, and about life more generally. 

First: Sometimes you can’t get the bottle you want.

Second: Sometimes you don’t want the bottle you get. 

And third: Yablochny Uksus is Russian for apple cider vinegar.

Enjoy the issue.