Every time I have a cup of strong Russian tea , I remember my grandmother's magical samovar. When I was a little boy, my grandmother would make tea for me in this giant, gleaming tea urn which seemed to have a life of its own. I loved the tasty tea that came from the urn but was fascinated by the samovar itself. It dominated the room and seemed to be almost as big as I was. Its copper sides were decorated with beautiful red and black designs which reminded me of birds. Sometimes I could imagine the samovar flying off into the air , purhaps back to grandma's village, which is where skilled craftsmen had painted those beautiful red and black designs. I can still remember the smell of the dark tea that my grandmother made using the urn. Its leaves always filled her tiny apartment with an exotic aroma , and the rich brew tasted like liquid velvet.
