In Aleksandr Rogozhkin's film, "Peculiarities of National Hunting," a Finn who has read too many Turgenevesque descriptions of hunting in Russia sets off on a tracking expedition with an assortment of Russian characters. The vast majority of their time is spent drinking vodka. Vodka informs the plot in every possible way. It is the central element, the cause and effect of most of the action.

Many times, I have felt like Aleksandr Rogozhkin's Finn, muddling my way from one vodka-fueled episode to another. For me, this was all an attempt to gain a greater understanding of Russia, its people, its culture and even its language.

But I had no thoughts of vodka the first time I sat down with Russians. That was in 1986 when perestroika and glasnost were just beginning to make their way into the international vocabulary. My admiring comments on Gorbachev were met with a hostility that surprised me. But then, I was unaware of the anti-alcohol campaign that the Soviet leader had imposed on the country. I didn't know that sugar had disappeared from the shops as moonshine production shot up and that desperate drinkers were downing whatever they could lay their hands on - wood spirits, airplane fuel, perfumes.

Thus I received my first lesson in Russian politics. Catherine the Great once said that a nation of drunks is easier to rule than one in which the people are sober. Alcohol is a remedy for hardship and the quintessential social equalizer. Old and young, rich and poor - everyone can rely on the benefits of vodka. But Gorbachev paid no heed to this little piece of wisdom.

In Rogozhkin's film, the Finn encounters a series of communication problems, due to the language barrier. Assistance comes in the form of lubrication. As many foreign visitors to Russia have discovered, with the help of the country's favorite tipple, even the most hopeless linguist can find his Russian language skills improve. A bottle of vodka is worth more than any interpreter. I did most of my "studying" with assorted sailors, geologists and oceanographers, from places like Vladivostok and other Far Eastern ports. The average class would begin in the early evening, continue through the night and involve many toasts. The first was always to our meeting, the second to friends and family back home, and the third to those at sea. After that, we invented our own. Needless to say my Russian made great progress.

To avoid getting hopelessly drunk, it was recommended to swallow a tablespoon of oil before starting on the vodka. Greasy food was also a good stomach liner, and the juice from fat Russian gherkins helped cure any after-effects the next day. In fact, as any vodka aficionado will tell you, with the correct accompaniments, the hangover from a pure, good quality brand is virtually non-existent.

Once I was invited to breakfast by the chief mate of a ship from Petropavlosk-Kamchatskii. We ate caviar and drank Soviet champagne. This was followed by fish livers and "super vodka," to which the chief mate added cranberries and pineapple juice. The "super vodka" came from a bottle with no label. I don't think the name mattered, it was the "super" effect that counted.

With the advent of a market economy in Russia, the range of vodkas in the shops grew tremendously. But as the country changed, vodka consumption did not decrease. It is one of the few things that has remained stable in Russia, seemingly oblivious to social, political and economic transformations and crises. "New Russians" might now prefer exotic spirits like Scotch whiskey and tequila, but this is a patriotic country, and the average resident hasn't abandoned the national drink.

With annual vodka consumption at around four billion liters, including home-distilled varieties, it's no wonder that so many films and books have drawn on the bottle for inspiration.

Vodka, it turns out, has secret health benefits too. In my ignorance, I always thought it more of a potential danger, a cause of swollen purple noses and cirrhosis of the liver. But, faithful to my interest in Russian politics, I recently picked up a biography of Prime Minister Evgenii Primakov and learned that for health reasons he has stopped drinking wine in favor of vodka, which is "less acidic and better for the stomach."

That reminded me how, following the Chernobyl accident, some people in the neighboring towns began gulping down vodka in the belief that this would protect them from the effects of the radiation.

The people of the Nizhnii Novgorod region found an even better combination of nuclear power and the national drink. In the last days of the Soviet Union, work got underway on a nuclear power plant. The local population protested and, partly through the efforts of young rising star Boris Nemtsov, brought a halt to the work.

According to what people told me when I last visited Nizhnii, the power plant is now being used to produce vodka! Apparently, the filters designed for the processing of uranium are also perfect for manufacturing a particularly pure type of vodka. "Nuclear vodka," my drinking companions called it, though the distillery thought twice about putting that on the label. Nuclear or not, I can vouch for its outstanding purity, fine taste and high standard of drinkability.

Vodka, and the Russians' love of it, is probably one of the few stereotypes about this country that actually rings true. Any visitor to Russia should be aware that sitting at the kitchen table with a group of friends and a bottle of vodka really is the best way to learn about Russian people and Russian culture. Aleksandr Rogozhkin made a sequel to his "Peculiarities of National Hunting." It is called "Peculiarities of National Fishing" and involves, among other things, Finns, Russians, vodka and drunken dips in the Gulf of Finland.

I have seen it and it confirms what I've always said: "Total immersion is the only way to learn."