Girls, You're Testing Fate: Inside Ryazan Dive Bar
The Ryazan women were scared to enter the bar
This time fate and the long-established column of visits to cheap drinking dens led YA62.RU journalists to Rodnichok — an establishment on Berezovaya Street with no rating. Post-traumatic syndrome after visiting Olga, where we were nearly beaten up, never left us, so we prepared in advance — thought through a cover story and brought pepper spray. Just in case.
The girls mustered their courage around the corner
In the end, instead of the canister, a kind saleswoman protected us from a man, but more on that later. First, about our cover story: we are students on vacation who got terribly bored and decided to visit all the strange dives. Well, we«re curious!
The atmosphere in Rodnichok is probably typical for an old bar
We get to the bar on a stuffy and overcrowded bus No. 30 to the final stop «Berezovaya Street.» The navigator deceived us, so we wandered around the neighborhood a bit until we realized we just needed to go down to an old nine-story building. In its basement is a drinking den with the playful name Rodnichok (Little Spring).
We, the generation of the 2000s, had never seen anything like this
Before going in, we stand near the building for almost 10 minutes, trying to act natural, but anxiety overwhelms us. On the stairs to Rodnichok, a middle-aged man in a tracksuit is smoking. He looks mysteriously at people through the grating, and logically, he doesn«t inspire trust. No joke, after Olga, excessive wariness developed.
Natalya turned out to be friendly
We take a deep breath and walk to the entrance of the Rodnichok bar. We try to be so natural that we immediately strike up a small conversation with the mysterious man.
Rodnichok«s visitors look at home
— Hello, can we have a drink here?
No one would want to return to such a restroom
— Oh! Of course you can.
And we descend into the basement, hoping to get out of here and calmly make it home afterwards.
The gray concrete walls didn«t fill us with hope for a wonderful near future, but the interior of Rodnichok itself turned out not so bad. As always, a surprised saleswoman greeted us, learned our story, and only then calmed down a bit. We»d even say she took a liking to us, because she spoke in a gentle voice, joked, and carried on an active conversation.
We bought two bottles of cheap cocktails and a chocolate bar — it came to just under 500 rubles ($6 at current rates). We really didn«t want to try the sliced sandwiches under cellophane.
In the hall stood a slot machine that didn«t work, to our regret. It would have been very interesting to see that thing in action. Just as we voiced our wish, the man from the entrance actively joined the conversation — he instantly came down after us.
— Don«t even think about it! — the man warned us about the dangers of gambling. This was Seryozha, he»s far from a regular at this particular establishment, but he«s been holding a bottle in his hands continuously for many years.
Seryozha suffered a terrible fate — just as he got his salary today, his friends took it from him. The man says they«re good and did it just so he wouldn»t drink himself to death. So fate led him to Rodnichok, where he ended up practically without money.
Seryozha briskly began getting acquainted with us. At first the cashier Natalya tried to stop him, but then she herself joined the dialogue and we had a heartfelt conversation, the kind that usually happens already toward morning, on a balcony.
We say we supposedly study to be Russian and literature teachers, rent an apartment for two, and have fun in the summer. But time and again Seryozha was eager to teach us about life. Understandable: young girls come alone to a dubious bar. We«ve gotten used to such dialogues over all the time we»ve been visiting drinking dens for reviews — people with addictions clearly don«t wish us the same fate.
— Oh, girls, you«re testing fate! — Seryozha said this phrase several times.
Word by word, and now Natalya is already telling us that she«s a fellow countrywoman of one of the journalists — she»s from Tula Oblast. She complains about her pension and shares her difficult fate.
— I just work here, this isn«t my establishment. You can»t live on a pension. All of us pensioners work now, — Natalya shares. Her husband recently died of cancer, and she speaks of this event with an almost trembling voice.
— My grandmother suffered for three months… — Seryozha cuts into the conversation.
The atmosphere in Rodnichok instantly darkens, but Natalya herself suggests returning it to its usual course. After a few seconds of mournful silence, we decide to add some vibe. After all, music is playing on the radio, we should have fun, and it«s not the time for such conversations.
— Let«s tell jokes then, or something, — we suggest. And Seryozha seems to like this idea.
— Aliens caught an American, a Frenchman, and a Russian. And asked each to name a number the aliens don«t know — whoever manages gets freedom. One says a million, another — a trillion, and they»re told: «We can count such numbers on our fingers.» And then the Russian says: «A shitload!» [replaced from profanity], he«s released, and then they ask what kind of number that is. Anyway, when you»re walking along the rails and counting nails on the ties, the thought «To hell with it!» will appear — that«s what a shitload is, — Seryozha jokes and cracks up.
— And I only know one joke. A Gypsy found a centaur — and didn«t know whether to rob him or steal him, — I say. Natalya and Seryozha laughed sincerely, and we were no less sincerely surprised by this.
While we«re chatting, two men enter Rodnichok 10 minutes apart. One quickly takes a beer to go and leaves, while the other stands at the counter for a long time talking to Natalya. He»s in home clothes and flip-flops, as if he stepped out of the house in whose basement the bar is located.
The man argues about something with Natalya, asks for a loan, and then they start laughing. We didn«t understand the gist of the dialogue — a loud song by Yuri Shatunov drowns everything out.
One of the journalists visited the restroom in Rodnichok, but she«d have been better off not doing so… The entire ceiling is »dotted« with black mold, and the toilet was horrifying. Thank goodness at least the faucet worked.
The sight of the mold that had consumed the ceiling stayed before our eyes for a long time afterward.
After 40 minutes of heart-to-heart conversations, the man began showing interest in the married journalist, who was pensively twirling hair around her finger. It«s a habit, and it doesn»t mean flirting. Moreover, the girl didn«t even perceive Seryozha as a male — just as a visitor with whom she temporarily ended up in the same place.
But Seryozha very much perceived her as a female, so unexpectedly he got up, walked over to one of the journalists, and grabbed her hand to examine the tattoo.
— What«s written on you here? — Seryozha asked, grabbing her hand. I pull it away and answer that he can read it himself from a distance.
It seems this rebuff somewhat stunned Seryozha. He stood pensively for a few seconds, let go of the journalist«s hand, and returned to his table. And at the end he even muttered: »I didn«t understand anything anyway.»
Natalya at that moment was watching us from under the counter and seemed ready to intervene. And we realized it was time to go. Then suddenly the other journalist got up and said she urgently needed to see her boyfriend because she«d forgotten about a meeting with him.
Natalya smiled knowingly at us, wished us all the best, and we wished her the same. Seryozha animatedly said he«d walk us out, but remained sadly sitting at his table. This time there were no exceptions or maximum mayhem. Rodnichok is a truly niche place that local drinking enthusiasts will surely appreciate. And those who don»t care about renovations, mold on ceilings, or a large selection of drinks.
The true diamond of Rodnichok is Natalya, who maintains goodwill and lightness despite her difficult fate. But there«s little pleasant about having your hand grabbed without asking and having your tattoo examined. It may not qualify as harassment exactly, but it»s definitely a violation of personal boundaries. Such behavior spoiled the impression even more than the mold.
