BELARUS NEWS AND ANALYSIS

DATE:

01/05/2008

The Blue Ridge Mountains of Belarus

BY TIM LOH, Correspondent

Fairfielder Tim Loh has been studying in Germany and from time to time, the Minuteman catches up with him. Below is Tim's latest dispatch from Europe.

Like the rest of Fairfield, I'm sure, I was shocked and struck aghast when I heard that the great American ambassador Karen Stewart was expelled from her post to Belarus recently.

And then to discover that this little outpost of tyranny was but two borders from my apartment in Berlin! Well, you can imagine how I reacted. For I am a true Yankee, my friends; and no one belittles Uncle Sam on my watch. So I called up my wonderful cousin, Emily Jones, a highly regarded Fairfielder herself, and we decided to investigate the matter the old fashioned way - on foot. What follows is a declassified portion of our report:

It was on St. Patrick's Day that we arrived in the Belorussian capital of Minsk, that megalomaniac paradigm of Stalinist architecture. And though there was but little green to be found - mostly a suffocating greyness - we had little trouble getting in touch with our Irish roots. We meandered west of that eyesore October Square and found a cozy tavern named Pivnoi '0.5'. This proved a good choice and we soon forgot all about tyrannical oppression.

We consumed a respectable amount of food. I opted for a dish of machanka, a hearty mix of bacon, cheese, potato pancake - maybe a little beef - all drenched in a thick, tasty, artery-clogging cream cheese designed to keep the cold out in the East European winter. On top of this we sampled from their vast wealth of ales - eventually settling on a healthy flow of Baltika Premium - before leaning back to enjoy the environment.

And what sights there were to see! Among other things, I'd developed a bit of a crush on four of the waitresses scampering about, which, added to the others I'd encountered during the day, brought the infatuation tally to a dozen. Military officers getting off work poured in with their families in droves, and their presence gave the establishment a decidedly 1970s feel. For, since then their uniforms have changed hardly a strand, they are still donning those upward-slanting, silly faux-baseball caps, with their flattish, rising roofs and the seal of the USSR - ahem, BSSR - stamped on front! The hue of their garb is an offish green, the shade used in cartoons to depict human vomit. And how eager they were to splurge their hard-earned cash, which, approaching $500 a month, constitutes the four-fold of the average civilian.

Suddenly lovely waitress number three approached our table and my heart fluttered as she spoke:

"There will be a band performing shortly, fine wedded pair of Americans; would you like to stay for the entertainment?"

Well I almost swallowed my fork when addressed in this unwelcome manner and I went to great lengths to assure her of my bachelorhood. "I see," she responded. Well, there is a 3,000 ruble cover charge for the enjoyment of the band. Shall I add this to your tab, fine hunk of a single, Mr..?"

"Loh. Tim Loh. And yes, put it on my platinum, dear." We prepared for true Belorussian serenading. And what fine music it was. The group consisted of four young men in matching ties and khaki slacks; there was a drummer, a bass guitarist, a classical guitarist, and an accordion player; and how triumphantly atmospheric it did sound. It was readily apparent that no amount of dictatorial oppression could keep this foursome from the soulful retreat of good, artful music. The one caveat was the volume - it became impossible to carry on a conversation and Emily shouted to me from across the table: "This could get tedious if no vocalist appears, Timmy."

But just then a portly lady in jeans and a checkered blouse stepped out and started dancing with a microphone in hand. We grew anxious. She demonstrated a commendable aversion to rush, however, and continued cavorting her body through two full-length numbers. Finally, she cleared her throat and my ears began to dance as she kicked her vocal chords into action. But to our terrific surprise, this came out:

Almost heeeeaven, West Virginiaaaaa/ Blue Ridge moooountains, Shenandoah riiiiver/Life is oooold there, older than the treeeeeeeeees/Younger than the moooountains, blowing like a breeeeeeeze/Country roooooooads, take me hooooooome/ To the plaaaaaaace, I be-loooooong/West Virginiaaaaa, mountain mommaaaaa/Take me hoooooooome, country roooooooooooads."

It was a fine rendition, surely one of the better John Denvers I've ever heard. It just goes to show that the old adage remains true: you can throw foreign diplomats out of a tyrannical country, but you can't throw country out of repressed diplomacy.

Source:

http://www.zwire.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=19653000&BRD=1653&PAG=461&dept_id=12717&rfi=6

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