The Goat Coat Goes to Russia

Saint Basil's en vrai.

Last week I experienced a lot of firsts.  First business trip I’ve ever done.  First visit to Russia.  First time wearing a goat coat.

No, this was not the old backpacker-run-free-and-frolic-amongst-the-beautiful-ancient-architecture-and-stunning-countrysides travel like I’ve comfortably gotten used to.  Here’s a rough idea of my itinerary:
Day 1: Serve thirsty Russian wine professionals in Moscow while communicating through gestures and remedial English, ignoring jetlag and sufficing on only three hours of sleep.
Day 2: Jam-pack the tourist highlights (Kremlin, Red Square, Saint Basil's Cathedral) into one morning before hopping on a plane to Ekaterinbourg and embracing yet another time zone change.
Day 3: Watching the first snow blanket the industrial city outside, while again pouring Burgundies to excited Russian francophiles.
Day 4: Resisting zombie-like fatigue while boarding three different planes to get me home to Lyon in one piece.

Clock tower at the Red Square

So, it’s only now, restored by affordable champagne, local cheese, and a few good nights’ sleep that I am realizing the experience’s personal effect on me, all business aside.  I feel so lucky to have stumbled upon such an exciting opportunity and thoroughly enjoyed my brief glimpse at Russian culture.  The most curious discovery was seeing why exporting French wine to this otherwise vodka-loving country is an interesting proposition.  Russia relies heavily on its imports…produce, meat, wine, you name it.  The money is there, but the comfortable climatic conditions permitting the “essentials” of daily life are not.  Thus, the country’s charming notoriety for making the best of the hand nature has dealt (case in point…borsch!)

Saint Basil's glowing interior.

Conversely, it seems likely that these cold dark winters, a tough historical past, and uncertainty on the world’s political stage foster some sense of patriotic conviviality.  As an American in love with the French way of life, it was heartwarming to spend the trip with a forty-something French man who adores Russia and its people.  Strolling around his old favorite hangouts, and seeing his eyes light up during his first visit inside the ornate Saint Basil’s Cathedral (it had been closed for renovation during his years as a student in Moscow) was inspiring.  This was, I can only assume, his equivalent of my magical bike rides through the vines of the Cote d’Or.

True, I am wary of how risky the Russia wine market is.  There is a lifetime of terroir and wine culture education to catch up on, not too mention the bribing and illegal negotiations that hallmark their business.  But seeing my colleague’s thirst to bring a piece of his homeland culture into the country that has touched his soul is inspiring.  If anyone knows how to turn the Russians on to the elegant power of Burgundy, I think he’s the one.

Another very important first? My first time leaving France’s borders in over a year!  And witnessing one Russian dude sneak some miniature bottles of crap airline wine into his carry-on on the way back to Lyon made me feel so lucky to be going home to the land of 400 cheeses, rolling vineyards, and temperate weather.  Yikes, did I just call France home?!

The homecoming is so sweet, particularly passing by Pouilly-Fuissé in autumn.