gluttony cont.

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I titled the last entry "gluttony and limbo" because I feel like I'm in limbo and have become a glutton. You see, one doesn't waste food in Russia; one learns to "eat up."

And so it was that yesterday I wanted to kayak lake Solvalla, but the woman at reception said she only had canoes, no kayaks. So instead I decided to get lunch. It was close to noon. I had not eaten since 4 o’clock the previous day. The morning I had hiked all over the map. In short, I was famished. In the cafeteria, Finns and Swedes chewed away in silence. The buffet featured stroganoff. I piled mountains of the stuff on my plate and then on into my mouth. Finns like thick bread, it’s heavy, dense, takes minutes to chew and swallow and can soak up lakes of sauce. I loaded up on it and cleaned my plate of all traces gravy. Midway sto through this debauch my stomach began to ache. I was clearly full, but I gluttoned on. That last hunk of cement bread, however, was too much. Sickened, but unwilling to show any sign of weaknes, I decided to settle in with a cup of coffee. With difficulty, I rose and poured myself a mug. I drank it down, in tiny sips. I couldn't handle any more than a few drops at a time. Good coffee, but each sip brought me closer to disaster. I was determined to finish. With my mug empty, instead of celebrating, I began to double over. Sveta says that in situations like these, it is best to concentrate on your breathing, take deep breaths in, slowly and exhale. At least once a week, her mother’s meals would put her in a similar state to the one I was in - so she’s experienced. Johnny has told me it’s a good idea to do the same when you’ve had too much to drink. I can say I've tried. Painful and frightening though it was, I stood up. I had come to the unwelcome conclusion that it safest to continue my labored breathing and belly rubbing in the privacy of my own room.

Even more than a hungry Russian, a passport-less traveler who is unsure of where his next meal is coming from or if its coming at all, can’t afford to eat light. As Svejk’s comrade Chodounsky relates in “The Good Soldier Svejk” that when the Austrian soldiers heading off to war with Serbia in the summer of 1914 eat like Romans at every stop on the way to the front.

“At Osek in Croatia two gentlemen from the Veterans’ Association brought a big cauldron of roast hare into our van and then we couldn’t control ourselves and poured all of it over our heads. Wherever we went we did noting else but spew out of the train.”

So with this pleasant thought in my mind, I lurched out the door into the sunlight - the rain had stopped - and up the path to my cabin.

At last it came, accompanied by a terrific roar, that last cup of coffee with some bits of bread for good measure. A bicycling Finn looked on in horror. Thankfully most of my meal remained inside me, where it belonged. I had cleared up enough room to allow me to complete my journey.

It could have been worse. Again Chodounsky explains,

“Corporal Matejka in our van stuffed himself so full that we had to put a board across his belly and jump on it, just like when you tread on sauerkraut. That was the only thing that relieved him and it came out of him from on top and underneath.”

I showed a little more restraint at breakfast the next morning. No boards were required.

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Comments

[Sveta]

That's where you needed me - to help eat up Don't eat up without help!