About Meals
Kazan. Russia.
Be surprised, be very surprised. This is where Central Asia meets Boom Town, Russian style. Oil rich and dominated by a minareted citadel straight out of central casting, Kazan has ruled the mid Volga for a thousand years. Once the north western stronghold of the Mongol Khanate, sacked by Ivan the Terrible in 1552, still the gateway to Siberia, Kazan (now capital of the predominately Muslim Republic of Tatarstan ), is the frontier between the Turkic descendents of Genghis’ army and the Christian West. Two races, two languages, two religions living harmoniously, helped by five TV stations, an opera, theatres and shopping malls. Good hotels are plentiful, the night life buzzing, the people obliging. Trains, boats and planes abound and the limitless forest that surrounds it, harbours tranquil white washed monasteries with breathtaking icons and 17th century frescoes.
Kazan is the centre of Tatar culture. Its shops, opera house, restaurants and the university (where both Tolstoy and Lenin were students) lie in a square mile to the south east of the Citadel (Kremlin). Much of the old town is ‘fin de siècle’ European. Once fine homes, now in pitiful condition are being lavishly restored in pastel shades. A canal (Bulak) splits the former Tatar city from the Orthodox Christians as decreed by Ivan the Terrible; mosques on one side and onion domed churches on the other. The rest of the city of one million people is of little relevance to the brief visitor. The few remaining green painted (Tatar) log cabins with carved windows co-exist with giant shopping malls and hundreds of soviet era five-storied Khrushchevka apartment blocks. Crumbling and filthy outside, inside the flats are often spotless if shabby.
New high-rise developments are sprouting on the far bank of Kazanka River, a tributary of the Volga, but the lack of trees (why don’t they plant some?) make them bleak; dusty in summer and blasted in the winter. Quite interesting are the gated estates of ‘cottage’; which roughly translates as ‘a large single family home for the very well heeled’.
Around Kazan, is a landscape of flowered meadows (the dividend of wanton neglect), fragrant birch groves, vast virgin forests and rotting wooden villages. The weather can be as beautiful as it is extreme. In summer temperatures soar to 30+ degrees. In winter the Volga freezes iron hard and the land transforms into a snowscape of crystal days and starry nights. Avoid the rain, slush and sleet of spring and autumn which turns unpaved minor roads to the villages into bogs.
Four and a half star hotels abound. Service is improving noticeably, stone faced grannies yielding to young, attractive, well-educated English speaking staff. Prices for a standard twin room start at 4000 rubles up to 35,000 rubles for a presidential suite. The huge Korston Hotel complex (1 Ershova St, +7 843 279 3000) which is seven minutes by taxi from the centre has a shopping mall, restaurants, cinema, night club and bowling alley. Downtown the Shalyapin Palace (7/80 Universitetskaya St, +7 843 238 2800) is ideally central by Bauman Street, with comfortable plush gloomy rooms. The Mirage Hotel (Moskovskaya Street 1a, +7 843 278-05-05) opposite the Citadel, is glassy techno-modern. It has large bright rooms, limited atmosphere, and its own micro-brewery in the Joker Bar.
Fifteen minutes out of town next to the Aquapark (fun for kids), Imax cinema and the Tatneft AkBars ice hockey stadium, towers The Riviera Hotel (1a F. Amirhana Street, +7 843 511 2121); brand new, with its own outside pool and sandy beach. The view of the citadel and Kazanka river mitigates its desolate location. All these hotels have cash machines, Wi-Fi, hookers, conference facilities and gyms.
You don’t have to plump for the safety of an international hotel. Kazan has a couple of spotless small hotels, both central and offering a real alternative. Prices start at 3000 rubles. Very popular with the Russians is Hotel Giuseppe (15/25 Kremlevskaya St, +7 843 292 6934). It’s by the citadel, in a handsome townhouse. Lots of dark curtains and heavy furniture give it a whiff of Capone’s Chicago circa 1930. Most surprising, down a dodgy alley in an ugly building but right behind Bauman Street is a tiny B&B called Bon Ami (31 Ostrovskovo St, +7 843 292 2750). Only seven rooms but each is beautifully and wittily themed - there is a Safari, a Carnival, a Japanese room etc. Each boasts a mini-sauna.
There are no food shortages in Kazan. In addition to classic Russian fare (and the dreaded international cuisine in the hotels), some Tatar dishes are excellent. Faced with so many new exotic names, the choice bewilders you - Epochmak, kystuby, belish, kazilik and chuck-chuck. You may not know if you have ordered horse or a stuffed pepper until it arrives. But there is always sushi (everywhere), pizza and spicy kebabs (shashlyk).
The best cafes in the daytime are Art Café and Shokoladnitsa (+7 843 292 2712); for lunch go to Timerkhan (+7 843 243 7054) or 15 minutes out of town, Panorama (+7 843 526 5656). To impress at dinner, I recommend Tartarskoye Kulinarsii’ (+7 843 292 7070) and Maison Gris (+7 848 277 3749). For bars, try Tinkoff (+7 843 278 0505), part of a popular chain, and for nightlife, State 51 (+7 843 292 4546) and Ermitage (+7 843 292 4546).
Kazan is the first taste of the Orient, east of Moscow. The population is half Tatar and half ethnic Russian and you hear both languages. The business visitor with a spare half day, might take a guide and wander around the white walled citadel (Kremlin), renovated in 2005 for their millennium and rightly awarded UNESCO World Heritage status. Take your shoes off to go inside the swanky new blue domed Kul Sharif mosque, a gift from Saudi Arabia and the UAE. Peep into the Annunciation Cathedral; hear the legend of the leaning tower of Soyembike; a Tatar princess whose life ended tragically, not at all unusual then. Walk along Kremlin Street, with its 19th century merchant’s homes, visit the Tatarstan National Museum, buy a souvenir, then go quickly to the cream-yellow, floral decorated (very rare) baroque cathedral of St Peter & St Paul with its stunning iconostasis. Dip down to pedestrianised Bauman Street and then, if you are lucky, spot one of the very last pre-war trams on Pushkin Street.
Half an hour’s drive to the northwest in the thickest forest is the monastery sanctuary of Raifa. You have to see it. Wander around the white walled complex, drink from the sacred spring and marvel at the sumptuous iconostases in the three beautifully restored churches. And, for a truly Russian experience take the M7 highway for 40 minutes west, over the Volga to the island of Sviyazhsk. Ivan IV (the Terrible) assembled his prefabricated fortress here for the siege of Kazan in 1552 and in 1918 Leon Trotsky spent a month on his train here. There are six churches under repair, with stunning frescoes. Don’t miss the heretical ‘horse head’ St Christopher Pseglavtsa in the Assumption church. Less fun is the reminder of Stalin’s Terror, the site of the Sviyazhsk gulag (1930-1954). The bones of thousands of murdered prisoners are still unearthed there.. The road round the island is appalling, with car access only possible in high summer or midwinter. The 100 remaining residents are destitute, drunk or both. For more places you’ve never heard of; two hours west along the Volga is Cheboksary in the Chuvash Republic, to the north is Yoshkar Ola in Mari El. South is Bolghar the ancient capital of the pre Khanate state of Volga Bulgaria. You can get there by ‘Meteor’ hydrofoil.
Kazan loves its opera, ballet and theatre. Russia’s most famous operatic bass Feodor Shalyapin was born here in 1873. The Kazan Conservatory is famous. For the visitor there is the annual Nureyev Festival at the Jalil Opera House and the Tinchurin Theatre specialises in Tatar drama and comedy.
Russians buy their billiard cues in Kazan! As a shopping destination Kazan is catching up. There is Mega Mall with all the international brands you’d expect, also Park House and ‘VIP’ for clothes. Tsum supermarket by the Mirage Hotel has an excellent pre-prep food counter. Near the citadel along Kremlin Street there are Tatar souvenir shops. Bauman Street has trendy shops for jeans and accessories and there is the Kolkhoz market for the intrepid.
Guides are registered. To avoid the old Intourist ‘production quota tour’, book Yana Sharipova (Yana_sharipova@mail.ru, +7 906 322 1070), for all you need to know about Kazan in about two hours.
Kazan is not dangerous, the centre feels very ‘mittel’ European, but doing business in Russia generally is not for the innocent. Wages in Russia are low and poverty rife, so don’t wander around at night and don’t leave things to be stolen.
If you are invited to a home or dacha (a cabin in the woods where Russians escape their flats), bring a present, take your shoes off, don’t sip vodka, toast your host, keep eating and you may survive the night upright.
Taxis are plentiful and dirty, few drivers speak English or can drive. An exception is Valentin Varshavskiy, who is also a gifted classical pianist, (+7 905 316 0129). Be firm with the drivers, they see any speed limit as a base line to be exceeded no matter what the conditions and road markings as civic art or a waste of paint.
JS June 2009. First published on Globalista.co.uk. Globalista offers luxury travel advice for sophisticated discerning travellers.
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Legado Mitico - Buenos Aires
I hate gratuitous hyperbole, though boutique hotels do rank with electricity and the human genome as a defining advance in civilisation. Establishments like Legado Mitico compete on that commercial knife-edge of limited accommodation, by cosseting a discerning international clientele. The place is small, only 11 rooms, freshly and beautifully decorated in the Ralph Lauren style of faux English gentleman’s club; lots of peaceful putty green and books on dark wood shelving, but with that twist of Tango you’ld expect. Each bedroom is themed, ours after Carlos Gardel, the legendary chain smoking 1920’s Tango star whom we had never heard of. Monochrome photos of this brylcreemed smoothie, as famous as Byng and Piaf, were everywhere. The room was thoughtfully comfortable, with drifts of fluffy white towels and fragrantly expensive gels in the bathroom. No doubt the other rooms are equally original and just as restful.
The service from the moment we booked was welcoming; all our questions answered and whims pampered for the five days we spent in BA. I even received a lesson from the concierge in how to savour a calabash of tongue scorching mate, through a silver straw. As national pastimes go, it’s right up there with Morris dancing.
For surfers there is free wifi, but the tango music in the spacious ‘library’, is tiresome if you are trying to read after the day’s foray. All piped music is musak whatever the rhythm or cultural relevance, if its wall to wall. There is only so much vibrato glissando you can take. Breakfast was a bit sparse, possibly because I asked for Evitabix. (No I didn’t really).
BA is not the world’s favourite city, its vast, teeming, polluted and run down, but the location of the Legado Mitico in Palermo Soho, is ideal. It has something of London’s Portobello about it; a bit boho, low rise, tree lined, and lots of boutiques and cafes. There is even a milonga nearby where for 15 pesos you can glide your amor around the dancefloor till dawn. And I am reliably informed by my expert that the nail bar across the street is the home of the perfect manicure, which is a comfort. All in all we really liked the Legado Mitico and would stay there again.
JS May 2009
The service from the moment we booked was welcoming; all our questions answered and whims pampered for the five days we spent in BA. I even received a lesson from the concierge in how to savour a calabash of tongue scorching mate, through a silver straw. As national pastimes go, it’s right up there with Morris dancing.
For surfers there is free wifi, but the tango music in the spacious ‘library’, is tiresome if you are trying to read after the day’s foray. All piped music is musak whatever the rhythm or cultural relevance, if its wall to wall. There is only so much vibrato glissando you can take. Breakfast was a bit sparse, possibly because I asked for Evitabix. (No I didn’t really).
BA is not the world’s favourite city, its vast, teeming, polluted and run down, but the location of the Legado Mitico in Palermo Soho, is ideal. It has something of London’s Portobello about it; a bit boho, low rise, tree lined, and lots of boutiques and cafes. There is even a milonga nearby where for 15 pesos you can glide your amor around the dancefloor till dawn. And I am reliably informed by my expert that the nail bar across the street is the home of the perfect manicure, which is a comfort. All in all we really liked the Legado Mitico and would stay there again.
JS May 2009
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The Setai Hotel: South Beach, Miami.
It’s a deluxe hotel, no doubt about that but how could they get it so wrong? Let’s start with the décor. SB is a resort town, a confection of ice cream flavoured art-deco. All those 70 year old buildings botoxed, collagened and lip glossed back to their fun in the sun youth. Nobody does art-deco better than Americans – think Chrysler Building, think Empire State. But not the Setai. Oh Dear. Millions squandered. The front door looks like a service entrance – without much service. The lobby (the concierge explained the owners are Indonesian) is less seaside, more suicide. Think Leonard Cohen on Sea. Moscow University. Jakarta meets Lubjanka. CommunEast. Back to Black.
The wind howled round the building, but checking in was no breeze. They made us wait in a lounge like at the doctors. They sat around their dim sepulchre, in brown tunics. Monks with braille laptops, doing nothing very much.
The junior suite upgrade was a surprise - I am embarrassed how much we paid, we could have bought Zimbabwe – and seriously comfortable, except for the dirty windows, the view of the multi-story car-park with surround sound. Fall asleep to the pulse of a car alarm and wake to the beat of the bin men working the tin in the alley.
The lack of lighting, the non existent sockets for my cell-pc-iPod-blackberry-hairdryer-iron, is chic, edgy, cool? Of course it is.
And then there is the pool – hmmmmm, somebody built a condoleezza of a condo 2 feet from the sun-deck, so it’s a shade-deck from lunchtime to the end of your holiday.
Forget it. Don’t waste your money. The staff were helpful. Breakfast was superb and dinner definitely up for an Hors d’oeuvres of Lenin medal. (sorry, tried to wrestle that pun off the page, but lost).
The wind howled round the building, but checking in was no breeze. They made us wait in a lounge like at the doctors. They sat around their dim sepulchre, in brown tunics. Monks with braille laptops, doing nothing very much.
The junior suite upgrade was a surprise - I am embarrassed how much we paid, we could have bought Zimbabwe – and seriously comfortable, except for the dirty windows, the view of the multi-story car-park with surround sound. Fall asleep to the pulse of a car alarm and wake to the beat of the bin men working the tin in the alley.
The lack of lighting, the non existent sockets for my cell-pc-iPod-blackberry-hairdryer-iron, is chic, edgy, cool? Of course it is.
And then there is the pool – hmmmmm, somebody built a condoleezza of a condo 2 feet from the sun-deck, so it’s a shade-deck from lunchtime to the end of your holiday.
Forget it. Don’t waste your money. The staff were helpful. Breakfast was superb and dinner definitely up for an Hors d’oeuvres of Lenin medal. (sorry, tried to wrestle that pun off the page, but lost).
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Da Cera, near Venice.
Want to know a secret? Da Cera!, People in the know, know. The well heeled of the Veneto, Padua, Treviso and Venice know, but not the tourists.
Da Cera is one of the best restaurants in northern Italy and its in the middle of nowhere. To Venetians the village of Campagna Lupia is colloquially and figuratively, the back of beyond. But it doesn’t stop them ditching their boats and driving the 20K to eat at this family run fish restaurant.
The building outside is nothing to write home about. Dry-cleaner chic light industrial sums it up, but that becomes irrelevant and perversely amusing the moment you step inside.
Cool, plain, unfussy, with tables so far apart they form islands of white linen on which course after course of aesthetically beautiful food, with new and wondrous flavours, is offered.
Some are re-workings of Adriatic classics like the Brodetto di pesce alla veneziana “interpretato da Daniele” or the more exotic, Battuta di tonno con tartufo nero, crema di acciughe “salate da noi”. For those who like a Pacific ring there is the freshest most delicate sashimi. I ordered a vegetable risotto to start and will again.
The chocolate desert of some eight miniature dishes– a near-paradise experience for some in our party – even came with an explanation of why it is best to start from the left and work right. Irritating? Pretentious? not at all, just the passion the da Cera family have for their art.
Simonetta is front of house, with Daniele, the young and gifted chef, his sister Lorena and brother Lionello in the kitchen. If they are not busy they will show you round. It is imaculate. A slow minute in their cellar will convince you it is safe for the wine connoisseur to dine here too.
My advice to the Cera’s, and they really don’t need it, is to drop the words Antica Osteria, with its resonance of a creaky inn. They have made the arbour, the pretty view and tumbling bougainvillea irrelevant. This place is a temple to modern Italian cooking, so exceptional, they can invite you to sample their craft in a windowless space and you barely notice. They ask only that you focus on the product of their awesome talent. Its on the simple white plate in front of you. (www.osteriacera.it)
Da Cera is one of the best restaurants in northern Italy and its in the middle of nowhere. To Venetians the village of Campagna Lupia is colloquially and figuratively, the back of beyond. But it doesn’t stop them ditching their boats and driving the 20K to eat at this family run fish restaurant.
The building outside is nothing to write home about. Dry-cleaner chic light industrial sums it up, but that becomes irrelevant and perversely amusing the moment you step inside.
Cool, plain, unfussy, with tables so far apart they form islands of white linen on which course after course of aesthetically beautiful food, with new and wondrous flavours, is offered.
Some are re-workings of Adriatic classics like the Brodetto di pesce alla veneziana “interpretato da Daniele” or the more exotic, Battuta di tonno con tartufo nero, crema di acciughe “salate da noi”. For those who like a Pacific ring there is the freshest most delicate sashimi. I ordered a vegetable risotto to start and will again.
The chocolate desert of some eight miniature dishes– a near-paradise experience for some in our party – even came with an explanation of why it is best to start from the left and work right. Irritating? Pretentious? not at all, just the passion the da Cera family have for their art.
Simonetta is front of house, with Daniele, the young and gifted chef, his sister Lorena and brother Lionello in the kitchen. If they are not busy they will show you round. It is imaculate. A slow minute in their cellar will convince you it is safe for the wine connoisseur to dine here too.
My advice to the Cera’s, and they really don’t need it, is to drop the words Antica Osteria, with its resonance of a creaky inn. They have made the arbour, the pretty view and tumbling bougainvillea irrelevant. This place is a temple to modern Italian cooking, so exceptional, they can invite you to sample their craft in a windowless space and you barely notice. They ask only that you focus on the product of their awesome talent. Its on the simple white plate in front of you. (www.osteriacera.it)