Wow. It was a Friday the 13th and I didn't even notice.

So, to pick up where I left off, I woke up tired and cranky after waking up on the train after a less than full night of less than restful sleep. In addition to this, I was subjected to Kristin's inane comments about how we were now in "the real Russia" because we weren't in a city and were going by abandoned factories and apartment buildings. I'm glad that we still feel like Russia is totally back-ass-wards and that dilapidation and disrepair is its natural state.

Anyway, after our arrival in Nizhny-Novgorod, we schlepped all our stuff into a rented bus and rode to the hotel. Most of the ride was taken up with comments that we were "back in civilization" because cell phone service had returned. Half an hour after check-in (not really long enough to do more than brush your teeth and wish that you could take a nap) we met in the lobby to go to breakfast. Breakfast was at a restaurant in the Kremlin that we ended up eating most of our other meals at. Which was okay, because the lunches and dinners were much better than the breakfast we got. Don't get me wrong, I love kasha (oatmeal-y something), but this stuff was like cold congealed snot. Or something grosser, but that just makes me want to barf. And the sirniki (little cheese cakes made without cheese—don't even ask) were inedible, which made me want to cry. Anyway, breakfast was a letdown, combined with the bad news that were were going to be on a two-hour bus ride to a matryoshka factory. For those not in the know, matryoshkas are the brightly colored nesting dolls. The factory also makes other traditionally hand-painted wooden objects. Like spoons. And boxes. And really hideous end tables.

I passed out almost as soon as we got on the bus, as did almost everybody else. I think the poor guide was only talking to Margaret and Natasha, the tour coordinator. Even Evgenii Yurivich, the dean of our program who was along for the ride, was passed out. I know this because he had very rumpled hair and sleep marks on his face when we got off the bus.

Anyway, the factory was actually pretty cool. The guide had some kind of accent and she used a lot of words that I didn't understand, so I stopped trying to listen to her after the first five minutes of the tour. I realize that this doesn't say very much either for my language skills, or for my enthusiasm to learn, but it was cold outside and she was really boring. We did get a great tour of the factory, though. Apparently, they have a lot of tour groups come through so the workers aren't at all bothered by large groups of people coming through and taking lots of pictures. I felt like it was too much like a zoo, so I didn't take pictures of the people. I hate people taking pictures of me while I'm at work, so I figured I'd extend them the same courtesy. Instead, I took pictures of mass produced wooden products. One of the coolest things that I saw in the factory but couldn't get a picture of was a stencil of Lenin's head on a wall. However, his head was mostly covered up by nude calendars.

It was funny.

The factory also has a big museum of wooden crap that they make. And it's actually pretty crazy. They have all kinds of traditionally painted stuff—everything from dolls, and tables and chairs to plates, cups, and silverware, salt and pepper shakers, boxes, giant swans that serve no apparent purpose, and chess sets, and so much more that I can't even remember. They also have the most ginormous wooden spoon and bowl that I have ever seen in my life. There's a bad picture of it, but it doesn't even begin to convey the enormity. The spoon is at least 8 ft tall, probably 9 (because it's probably 3m and I wasn't paying attention to the guide).




Anyway, after lunch (which was actually really pretty good for the factory cafeteria), we hit up the souvenir shop and then hit the road south back to Nizhny-Novgorod. Although another word about food before I continue the saga. As most of you know, I'm a fairly picky eater. Granted, I've become less so as the years have progressed, but as of this summer, there were still things that I wouldn't really eat or that I would pick out and eat around. Like peppers. Or cucumber. Or weird things that looked funny. But here, I just eat whatever they put in front of me without asking any questions. Because as long as it tastes okay, I'd really probably rather not know what's in it. Take for example the Russian kotlet. I'm not sure if we have cutlets in the States, but I'm pretty sure that when Mom made something like that it involved chicken being breaded and fried. However, a Russian kotlet is mystery meat delux, but also fried. It usually tastes pretty good. Sometimes there's stuff in it other than meat that I hope is onion or garlic. Sometimes there's bone chunks. But anyway, I feel like the point that I'm fairly unsuccessfully trying to make is that Russia has made me a less picky eater. Whether or not I'm a better person for that remains to be seen.

I dozed on the way back to the hotel, but I was listening to Shooter Jennings and came to the abrupt realization that I was acutely unhappy. And the things to cure this acute unhappiness were about three 40s of PBR, a pack of Camel Lites, everybody's favorite "extracurricular activity," and a lot of pool. Seeing as my chances of getting any of those things (with the exception of the second) was nonexistent, I broke down and bought a pack of smokes. Because I've come the realization that this year is going to be like last year: it's going to suck a lot (really really a lot) and if I'm going to make it through and maintain some semblance of my sanity, I'm going to do whatever it takes. And if that means an occasional cigarette, maybe that's okay. I won't be happy about it, but I won't be killing myself either. I also bought a lot of vodka, and this is the night that I came to know the true meaning of the Russian phrase "Drinking vodka without beer is like throwing your money into the wind."

Now, everybody knows that vodka gets you drunk. Or at least it should. But I had about 9 shots of 45 proof vodka and was not drunk. Not even a little. I just got grumpy and irritated because I should have been drunk and everyone else around me was drunk. But let me back up a little and describe the revelries of the first night in Nizhny-Novgorod. It all started out with a party in Candice's room that everybody (except Margaret and Natasha) put in an appearance at, with Evgenii Yurivich as toastmaster. And he pours rather large shots. Even Claire turned up, and by the time I got there, she was fucking wasted. Which was funny, because she started trying to do drunk yoga and fell over. And then she spit in Candice's cup and fell over on her face. At some point, she also gave Laura W. the finger. So things went pretty well for a while, until people started to migrate downstairs to Phoebe and Jonathan's room. It was around this time that Reid slammed Laura F.'s fingers in the bathroom door. Not once, but twice, because he was drunk and couldn't figure out why the door wouldn't close and didn't connect the yelling with something he had done. Anyway, Laura was bawling and her hand was bleeding, but Evgenii, as the responsible adult, poured lemon vodka over the wound and then proposed another toast. He's my hero.

After Laura F. was bandaged and left to sleep off the remainder of her rudely shattered drunk, the few of us left made our way downstairs to Phoebe's. When we walked in, Candice was trying to pass out on the floor. She had been trying to match toasts with Evgenii and had come out rather the worse for wear. About five minutes later, she started barfing all over and was very ill for the rest of the night. The toastmaster kept drinking through it all, regaling us with the only line of the Marilyn Monroe song he knew: "I want to be loved by you..." Around the time that people started to wander off to bed and Phoebe announced that she also needed to barf, we were out of booze, and Evgenii issued an open invitation to get beer and drink on the street. Note that drinking on the street is illegal in Russia, and we didn't have our passports back form being registered at the hotel. However, this was all okay because "we would be with him, and he has a Russian passport." Anyway, because I was not drunk (still) but desperately wanted to be, I said I'd go along. So it ended up being me and Reid and Evgenii (who couldn't walk straight by this time) heading out to a bar.

The bartender was less than pleased when we came in, but was agreeable because we were taking the beers to go. Evgenii was much put out that they didn't have MGD and he had to have a Baltika. And I'll pause a moment just to say how fucked it is that he prefers to drink Miller over a perfectly acceptable beer like Baltika. Not that Baltika's great, but it actually tastes like beer, rather than stale pee. Now, I drink Miller too, but that's because pints are $1.50, not because I like it. He also gave me grief for smoking Camels, to which I was very tempted to say, "You smoke Parliments and Pall Malls. Don't even fucking start with me," but decided that it might just be better to say that I like the way they smell. Which is true. But seriously, how white trash do you get? He also has a mullet.

Anyway, after getting through most of the beer and most of another cigarette, I was feeling buzzed enough to hope that maybe I might get drunk after all. But alas, it was not to be. Had I had the foresight to have bought another beer, all would have been well, but I'm just not that cool. Anyway, remember kids, "Drinking vodka without beer is like throwing your money into the wind!"