The Uzhas Kashmar

In Russian, there's this really (sadly) useful word, "kashmar" (кашмар) that means "nightmare".  It's used more idiomatically, as in, "how was your trip over here?"  "Oh, it was a kashmar; I lost my laptop in Dulles".  Uzhas kashmar (ужас кашмар) is a terrible/awful nightmare.  Why explain this?  Onto my day.

It was a day that started out normally and ramped up in the kashmar department, until it finally peaked at 10:30 outside of a club on the wrong side of town.  But that's yet to come.  As a note, I can see how God provided for me in all of this situations, and also I have a good sense of humor about it.  If you don't have a good sense of humor when you travel abroad, you will die.

This morning was normal: breakfast with Marina, classes at the institue, then I went to the mall to pick up some groceries and laundry soap (their mall has a grocery store, and yes, it's a real mall).  I picked out my laundry soap, all proud of myself, ate a Bigmac because I'm feeling a little homesick (incidentially, the Bigmac made me sick like it always does at home) and returned to the apartment.  I gave Marina the soap feeling all happy with myself, and she kind of looked at me and said, "um, this is for washing the laundry by hand.  You need the kind for the machine."  Hand washing?  Not something I normally look for when detergent shoppings  That's about 40R down the drain (ha).  Fortunately, I decided not to buy the large bag of it, only a little box.  God kept me from buying a ton of it.   That's the first kashmar.

The second came at dinner.  I did all my homework in the afternoon and felt like seeing friends that evening, so  Laura, Eli, and I went to a nice Tatar restaurant, nicer than we would usually go to.  I decided to order the lamb because it was 195R which is about six or seven dollars, and I love me some lamb.  So we have a lovely meal, and when the check comes, it shows that my lamb cost something  like 350R.  As it turns out, the price was by the kilogram.  Who does that?  Russians apparently.  But, I had a big bill on me, so I was able to pay no problem (thanks again goes to God that I had the money).

Well, Marina wanted me home by ten because of the hoodlums that live in our neighborhood, so I left dinner around 9:45 to catch a bus.  At that point, I knew I would be about five minutes late, so I called Marina to let her know I was waiting for a bus.  All is fine.  TWENTY MINUTES LATER a bus rolls up to the stop. I was downtown across from the big theater and the obligatory Lenin monument, not like I was on the outskirts of town.  So I hopped on the bus, number 22, and took off.  Here begins the uzhas kashmar.

I know that I live in the opposite direction of the Kremlin (n.b. each major city has their own "kremlin"; it's the government complex, usually a very old fort.  THE Kremlin is in Moscow.  The Kazan Kremlin is a UNESCO World Heritage Site) so when the bus started to go towards it, my stomach felt not-so-hot.  When we crossed the giant bridge over the Volga and I then had a clear view of where I wanted to be, miles away, I wanted to die.  But fortunately I did not die, because over the past few years I've been able to learn to  "go with it" more than I maybe am comfortable with.  So I ended up on the complete opposite end of the world in the new developemnt area of town.  Big deal.

I decided that I could either wait for the bus to loop back into town and then call a cab, or get off then and call a cab, so I decided on the latter.  I hopped of the bus and went towards a "restaurant" I had seen.  Now, my ability to read Russian quickly is lacking, and my ability to read Russian cursive in neon letters is still farther behind, so what I thought was a restaurant actually turned out to be a club.  Remember those hoodlums Marina was worried about?  The place was swarming with them. 

Since I had my emergency number card with me (thank you, Lord) I was able to call a reputable cab company to come save me, but I of course understood not a word of what they said on the telephone.  I finally told them where I was and they said they'd call me in a few (call me?), so I waited patiently on the curb while the hip youngsters either swarmed into the club on a happenign Monday night or sat outside and smoked moodily. 

When the cab finally arrived, the driver happened to be a Russian incarnation of MacGuyver.  Not that he fixed anything crazy, but he kind of looked like him and had a similar personality.  If you've seen the show, you know what I'm talking about.

Fortunatly I know my address (Marina laughed as I told her the cab saga when I spat out my address for her; she wasn't sure if I knew it) and he took me home for about $4, but it was totally an uzhas kashmar.

Anyway, Marina and Anatoli think I'm a total dork.  Oh oh, and by the way, I made an apple pie this afternoon and we were going to have it at tea tonight, but somebody had to go and get lost...

As I was showering a few moments ago, I happened to glace and Anatoli's can of shaving cream and read "contents under pressure".  Indeed.

Jane

P.S.  Forgive me if there are any spelling errors.  It's late, and when I hit the spell check button, the whole page lit up like a Christmas tree.  This computer is formatted in Russian :)