I think I’m finally beginning to get Russia. This entire time here, I’ve had such a hard time connecting with people. The people on the street, in the bazaar stalls, my relatives, they have all grown up in such a…
my struggle with the Russian table
In the past twenty-four hours, I have been chased by a pack of wild dogs, helped slaughter a cow, stood knee-deep in said cow’s intestines, peed in public (twice), and climbed over a ten-foot fence at 2 o’clock in the…
Gangs of grannies and my other adventures in the motherland
I’ve been in Russia for less than half an hour and I’ve already seen at least three kids with mullets. I’ve already been yelled at by an airport official (you can’t look at my passport and tell me it’s not mine just…
my first hours in Russia, or how I stopped worrying and learned to love the bomb
Reprinted from 24-8-11 and my first blog. Coming into Russia, one feels the overwhelming smell of pickled fish, cigarettes, and sweat. The passport control officer sizes you down without as much as a “Have a nice day! (insert smile here)”…
Joy de Vivre and the French Quarter
There’s something wonderful about the South. The people are much friendlier than New Englanders. They are also much more intoxicated (which, now that I think about it, may explain the friendliness). It’s taken me the first three days to stop gaping open-mouthed at…
Trains, planes, and the M60
Things I learn at 3:30am: I am not invincible. Biking to the train station with my carry on is, as predicted, an insurmountable task. I call a taxi to my apartment. The operator tells me one will arrive momentarily. Ten…