After a refreshing visit to a holy spring believed to contain healing water (a woman with cancer was collecting water in jugs for a miracle bath), we went out to the countryside beyond Nizhni Novgorod. Scattered about the fields and between the forests were fenced-in communities of summer houses - small houses and shacks with large yards.

Some people live in these little country villages year round. Others, like our friend Alexi, use them on weekends and during vacations, especially during the warm weather of summer.

Some of the houses are no more than little shacks void of running water or electricity - simply shelters in which to camp. Others are more elaborate with all of the conveniences of modern living. Universal to the dachas we saw were their large yards, sufficient for ample gardens. Many front yards were decorated with beautiful flowers and plants, as were even more back yards.

The dacha where we 'camped' was something in between: a two-story log home built by Alexi and his uncles. Downstairs was an eat-in kitchen, a bedroom, and a living room complete with futon and fireplace. Upstairs was another bedroom.

As the sun began to set and the air began to cool it was time to enjoy the banya. As with the outdoor dinner, the preparation was half the fun. We walked into the forest where we hunted for just the right birch branches. Back at the dacha, we entered the banya. The wet, wooden sauna was heated with a wooden fire. Just outside the steam-enveloped room was another room of wood with benches and a shower. The shower was fed by rainwater collected in a large container on the roof. That was where we went for rest between intervals in the hot banya. During our breaks we drank hot herbal tea and cold beer.

"Tell me," my host began as we sat in the hot, steamy room, strong with the fragrance of birch branches brewing in large pans of water. "Ten years ago, when you first came to Russia, did you believe you would be hunting for birch branches and enjoying a hearty Russian banya ten years later?"

I laughed. "No," I answered honestly. "Ten years ago I wouldn't have believed it. But right now, looking to the future, I can see myself doing it ten years from now."

We took deep, meditative breaths. Then, we beat one another with the wet birch branches. Contrary to the image, it felt good. The fragrance of wet birch became sweeter. The wet air soothed the skin. It was an exhilarating experience.

After we left the banya it was the women's turn. Shortly after that, we all reunited. We talked, listened to music and danced while sipping beer and toasting vodka. The guitar decorating the corner was taken up, and the Russian folk music began. We even sang a few Beatles tunes. I remember the evening clearly and fondly. I believe in yesterday.

The Last Supper

One month in Russia was suitable for a visit. I could take more, but less is not enough for a rich, detailed multi-city tour. And yet, even with a full month, we only scratched the surface. Even with a month, we skipped important sights and rushed through others.

We spent our final day with people. The people of a land, after all, make the place what it is. As we lingered on the eve of our departure, we considered our options for a restaurant. I was hungry for one last Russian meal. Palmene, or blinee, cutlets or sturgeon. Perhaps a multi-layered Russian cake, a pie or a rich pastry.

We met our friends at the 'house of connection', or post office, located in Gorky Square. The monument to Maxim Gorky stood before us. We savored Makari and Baltica beer at the outdoor café in the center of the square and considered our dining options.

"I know a place you will like," a friend suggested. She lifted her hand and offered the newest addition to the square - McDonald's.