In Russia they grow potatoes. I mean everyone in every rural villages, in every back yard is a garden filled with flowers and potatoes. Oh, and some green cabbages. The outer leaves of the cabbages have been removed, so they look like big green shiny, bald heads as they sit up on their stalks.
“If you’ve ever been privileged enough to eat Russian dumplings with home made mayonnaise you’ll understand why they grow the finest potatoes in the world.”
On the sides of the roads as we drive slowly through the potholed tracks in the villages, buxom breasted, voluptuously molded women sit together on tiny stools in rows. They often sit outside their homes.
“Adorned with bright headscarves the women create a bobbing rainbow as they interact with each other.”
The women stare at me hearing the foreign accent; I point to myself and say “Afstrali’ and they immediately begin to chatter amongst themselves.
Warm smiles break out and working womens, calloused hands are outstretched to me in welcome. I hold my hand out with rubles and one woman takes a few coins from my palm. It really is a pittance.
I take the whole bucket full and drop them into my bag. ‘Oh so many’, Spaseeba” I say as I hold my hands out wide.
The women laugh goodheartedly making their generous bodies wobble; still chatting to each other in their beautiful language.
‘Da Svidanya’ I say in my limited Russian with an Australian accent, a smile and a wave and they all respond, “Da Svidanya’.
We ate those beautiful Russian potatoes for a month and created a lifetime memory.