Epilogue: Don't Cry Over Spilled Vodka...or Do.

There’s one final tale, which I’d be remiss if I forgot to share it with you.

 

After Alison and I said our goodbyes in Beijing’s monstrosity of an airport terminal, I made the long trek to my gate towards Security.  I wasn’t too worried about security here seeing as I’d somehow managed to return from the Philippines with six spears, 3 machetes, a monkey skull and other various tribal paraphernalia, and into the States with Cuban rum from their lovely embargoed neighbour, or back to Canada from England with frozen clotted cream.  For my non-stop Air Canada flight from Beijing to Hongcouver, I packed all my little gifts of fabulous Russian and Mongolian vodka in clear Ziploc bags deep in the bowels of my carryon.  Each vial of vodka was under 100 mls and remained unopened in their original bottle.  Not only was I carrying mine, but Alison’s as well—gifts for her family and friends.  I understood that by Air Canada’s standards, my alcoholic gifts would pose no problems, and as I didn’t want to run the risk of broken glass and liquour-soaked clothing, I put it all in my carryon.  Oh the havoc that was about to be wreaked in the Bejing airport…

 

When I went through security and they pulled out my Ziploc bag of goods, I was pulled aside and told in not so friendly of terms that I was not allowed to bring the vodka through security, that it had to be put in my carryon.  I was not exactly impressed, but asked how that could be done now that I’d checked my bags.  The security officers told me I’d have to return to check-in, but that was such a far trek back I’d risk missing my flight!  I fought with them for as long as I could afford, trying to point out that Air Canada allowed the bottles, that I could pass through the gates and buy as much alcohol in the duty-free zone as I could carry but they would not budge.  One officer in her attempt to be kind offered for me to bring the empty bottles back since they were souvenirs.  “Touching,” I thought.  The sentiment reeked with sarcasm.

 

Nonetheless, there I stood in the Beijing airport pouring mini bottles of good Russian vodka into a garbage can, tears streaming down my face.  I must have looked positively alcoholic!  I was just SO frustrated that I’d worked so hard to find the gifts for family and friends and was dumping it away all because of bureaucracy.  After I’d dumped a few bottles a thought crossed my mind and I asked the security people if someone from Air Canada could come and escort me to the plane with the alcohol and put it in the cargo area.  Amazingly enough, through a series of panicked pleas I was able to get an official to meet me, and take my re-packed carryon onto the plane.  I had a big shopping bag with me in which I stuffed my other carryon items and used that to bring aboard with me.  In the end, I arrived in Vancouver with everything in tact and only a couple of empty bottles! 

Jacqui was there to meet me as I came through the gates and got a look at my hilarious entrance wearing a conical Chinese hat I’d bought for her.  I was home J

 

Definitely cry over spilled vodka…it could work in your favour!

The Last Hurrah

China, China, China…what can I say, I haven’t said anything about it for four months.  Oops.  I have this serious problem with wrapping up ‘The Last Blog’ from a trip…maybe I’m just lazy or maybe I’m in denial and don’t want to admit the experience has ended.

 

Because it HASN’T I tell you!!!  I’m still connecting with people I met randomly throughout the trip for one thing.  Just a few examples… Lindsey from the US, whom we met on the train from Moscow to Perm, who treated me to a trip to a gulag, who’s wedding I shot in Washington, D.C. this past fall, and who tried to catch up with me in Mississippi over Christmas when we were only 15 minutes away from each other.  Rasmus from Sweden whom we met on the train from Perm to Ulaanbaatar, whom we bumped into again with his brother Hampus in Beijing, and who still updates me on their travels (currently somewhere in southeast Asia).  Galina from Russia who was the friend of a friend from Wyoming whom I met in Vancouver who once lived for three years in Siberia, who had us stay in her apartment for several days, who took us to meet missionaries in Mongolia from British Columbia who were friends of some of our other friends from Prince George, who is now keeping in touch from Thailand.  Whew!  No, I don’t expect you to follow, but I DO I think I’ve paid enough penance for not writing about China yet…my ‘prolonged experience’ was my excuse.

 

All right, so here is a bit of what took place between Sept 10-16 in Beijing…

 

Alison and I landed in China and proceeded through customs effortlessly, quite the contrast from our frustrating experience with trying to obtain a Chinese tourist visa for Alison.  Maybe this was due to the fact that the Olympic Games had just ended and the Para-Olympics were still taking place, but at every turn we found ourselves offered tourist-friendly information and courtesies.  After 4 weeks of bureaucratic nightmares we took advantage of free, concise, and helpful directions and suggestions at every possible opportunity.

 

We were also pleasantly surprised at how wonderfully situated our hostel was, not to mention how great the amenities were.  Located within the historic Hutong alleys and quite close to Tiananmen Square, our hostel was centered on a quaint courtyard, right amidst the hustle and bustle of wide-eyed travelers and local vendors just going about everyday business.  Fast internet, comfy beds, our own glorious room, and HOT SHOWERS, (hallelujah!!!) not to mention free beer when you ordered pizza from the restaurant downstairs…I was in heaven! 

 

Alison and I were just settling into hostel life by catching up with family and friends via email when all of the sudden Alison shot up out of her seat and ran out the hostel door onto the street.  I was baffled as to what could have caused such a stir, and then realized she’d recognized someone.  Or someones.  Rasmus & Hampus Meck, a couple of Swedish brothers we’d met on the train from Perm-Irkutsk happened to be looking for a hostel in Beijing and stumbled upon the one we were at.  Go figure!  Anyway, they wound up staying at our hostel and we usually all hung out once a day whether it was for a meal or to do some exploring etc.  Actually, bumping into the guys was rather timely as Alison and I were starting to need more variety in our company.  Guys often tend to help keep the mood light, and I think their sense of humour and quest for beer kept us from getting on each other’s nerves! 

 

Alison and I never got mad at each other on our trip until one of our final days in Beijing—the day we hiked the Great Wall.  Actually most of the day was spectacular.  We started off with the guys and a few other hostel-goers at one point on the Great Wall really early in the morning and planned to hike 10 km before ending at a restaurant at another junction in the wall.  The Wall was truly incredible and the best part was that for the whole 10kms, our group (which had split up for the several hour-long hike) had the wall to ourselves.  Well, save for the locals hawking their wares (Coke, beer, and T-shirts primarily—just what I was looking for right?!) we really did have the thing to ourselves.  As the sun rose above us in a clear blue sky, we slowly made our way up and over the undulating monument that seemed to snake its way through the mountains behind us, before us, and into eternity.  Guard towers in varying states of decay urged us onwards, inviting us to spend a few moments relaxing in their shady corridors.  I might have lingered longer had it not been for our need to meet the group and driver at a certain time, as well as the ever-pestering touts.  The wall was not a smooth, worn path, refurbished to meet the needs of foolhardy tourists eager to peer through their cameras’ viewfinders rather than watch their step.  The stretch we were hiking demanded our attention; from the uber-steep stairways crumbling around us to the jagged pathways leading us onwards it was vital that we watch where we were going, which meant that photography had to be done at a full stop.  Not that this was a problem for me—I enjoy what one could call ‘meditative walking or hiking’.  Stopping and starting with no real pace or drive, just enjoying the sheer beauty at a relaxed pace…letting it all sink in.  This however, is not Alison’s style.  She most definitely soaked up the grandeur of the experience and the beauty of the moment, but Alison is a bust your buns, pedal to the metal, guns a blazin’ chick who understandably had a different sort of experience in mind.  Both of our methods were great, but very much suited to the individual, not the team.  This caused, well, a little friction.  Not towards the end of the 10 kms, but more so when we began another, overcrowded stretch of grueling stairways that happened to be a turn in the wrong direction.  Only we didn’t realize it until a few thousand stairs (and a missed lunch) later.  We were both quite peeved at each other and the situation…not that it was one of our faults, but because we were just overtired, sweating like dogs, and each dealing with the situation in our own, individual way.  Plus, after 5 weeks, something is just bound to bubble over when a situation gets tense.  In the end, we made it to the group in time to catch our ride, but found out that if we’d made the right turn we could’ve ridden a zip-line down to the restaurant.  BOO, BOO and DOUBLE-BOO.  I had always wanted to do that and quite frankly, I’m a fan of rewards after long, hard experiences.  Not that the wall was THAT tough, it’s just that it was hot, we were tired, and a free ride down the mountain with food and beer waiting was, well, definitely incentive.  This on the other hand, felt like being sent to bed with no dinner and I wasn’t too impressed.  Ahh well, Alison and I both decided that we still made great travel partners, but should probably avoid hiking together in the future!!!

 

Our Great Wall experience was quite amazing all in all, as was the rest of our Beijing experience.  We both spent a lot of time just wandering the alleys, buying souvenirs, eating meat on sticks (something that makes me ridiculously happy) trying Peking Duck, and debating with the guys.  Rasmus and Hampus.  If you read this, please know that it has been YEARS since someone has challenged me in my faith and Christian beliefs as profusely as you both did.  These guys put some tough questions to both Alison and I, and personally I really enjoyed the debates and opportunities to define my beliefs more concretely.  We spent some pretty late nights arguing over beers and questioning each other’s views—I loved it and that kind of thing makes me feel very…alive. 

 

On a much lighter note, here are two things everyone who goes to Beijing should do.  One: Visit Tiananmen Square.  I was determined to start the trip in Red Square and end in Tiananmen.  And I didn’t.  We kept putting it off until the last day and then for some strange reason it was CLOSED.  I was thoroughly disappointed in myself and pretty embarrassed.  Dumb, dumb, dumb!...oh well..next time!   Number Two:  Visit the Pearl Market.  Oh. My. Goodness.  I get overwhelmed visiting the grocery store without a list so I pretty much keeled over and panicked upon entering floor one of three packed with pearls.  I did wind up buying a few nice pieces for myself and for others, but oh wow that place was a sight to behold.  There’s no way to describe it, so just GO.  And plan to spend a few hours if you’re a woman.  And if you’re a man, just leave your wife, sister, mom with a set amount of money and get the heck out….you’ll drive yourself ballistic trying to make sense of the billions of pretty beads!

 

Hmm…what else can I say about Beijing?  It was a great place to end our trip, an inspiration to return and visit China’s small villages and countryside, and a fun place to say farewell to each other after five weeks of travel across the infamous Trans-Siberian Railway.  What an incredible journey!!!  Hope you’ve enjoyed the armchair version of our trip and in the words of Alison pretending to be Chinese, “Prease hod on handwail!”

The Madness Persists...

I have no idea WHAT Alison has blogged about regarding our recent Mongolian experiences, but Oi! have we had an adventure. Again, I'm racing the clock here at Za Internet on Peace Avenue, but let me attempt to fill you in.

Upon arriving in Mongolia, Alison and I realised that while some of the older folks speak a bit of Russian, we were now on similar playing fields. I was no longer the dumb foreigner who didn't understand what was going on--we were BOTH the dumb foreigners without a clue! Fabulous, because that's exactly what I'm used to.

What was most liberating for me was the freedom to deal with male attention or interactions as I saw fit. In Russia I left a lot of that up to Alison as she spoke the language and I didn't neccesarily feel right about stepping over her. Here in Ulaan Bataar when a man lunged after one of the four 1.5 litre bottles of water that I was struggling to haul back to our guesthouse, I snatched it back and shot him a nasty "NO!" and booked it up the road...granted the man was poor and seemed pretty innocent, but my past dealings with men in Morocco programmed me to be quite harsh and agressive. This little incident might seem pretty trite, but it gave me confidence to protect my space in the way that I saw fit.

When Alison and I saddled up on our sad looking horses out in the Mongolian countryside ready for a full day's ride, the guide looped our reigns around his fist and lead us for 20 minutes like kids at a petting zoo. We laughed and joked for a bit, but when he stopped at a viewpoint he tied up the horses, pointed to the large rock we were supposed to photograph, and then went and sat in a car with four buddies and smoked for a while. I was fed up. Alison and I were freezing, we weren't impressed with our pony ride, and we were quite aware of the fact that the guide and his friends were making fun of the 'dumb tourists'. I had enough. Alison and I decided that we'd rather walk back and go for a hike so I marched up to the car full of Mongolian men and using the most ridiculous actions and body language, announced that we were walking back and that we no longer wanted to ride 'attached' to each other. The men giggled and laughed at my wild and crazy gestured but I made our point clear. We strode off and minutes later the guide came after us with the horses and let us ride on our own for the rest of the trip. All in all we had a great time and had the chance to see some beautiful scenery and definitely filled the afternoon with photos and laughter. Fully satisfied, we returned to our yurt and warmed ourselves by the fire.

With traffic too, I feel a lot more bold about being agressive than I did in Russia. Here, traffic is a lot more chaotic and lawless, which is fun and I get quite a kick out of swerving through 4 lanes of (slowly) moving traffic. It's the only way to cross the street here, and standing in the middle of downtown rush hour traffic trying to cross to the next lane is such a rush and reminds me of Morocco. I've missed the insanity.

And speaking of madness. On the day Alison and I arrived hours before the Chinese embassy opened, (to try and accquire a visa for her entry into China next week) we wound up fairly close to the front of the line. 30 minutes after the embassy was scheduled to open we were still huddled around the front door, only now we were bracing our elbows and practicing menacing looks in hopes of warding off those who refused to queue up. As the solid metal door opened to let the first batch of visa-hopefuls enter, we were sure we'd make it indoors on the first round. BAM! The door slammed shut just as Alison and I tried to squeeze our way in. We caught the pitiful glances of the other Europeans ahead of us who we'd allowed to go ahead of us because they'd initially been in line before us. Polite Canadians that we are. Just keeping up our reputation as travel-savvy, polite Canucks for our fellow backpacking countrymen. After that though, we through patriotic duty to the wind and when the door opened again we squeezed in, triumphant. Out, out, out...no, no, no...only those picking UP visas were allowed in doors. Again, sheepish looks from the Aussies, Brits, Americans, French, and Germans all cozily awaiting their turn to step up to the application counter. The guard ushered us back OUT of the embassy waiting area. "Are you SURE???", Alison asked, incredulity dripping from her voice. "SERIOUSLY???", disdain oozing out from mine. BAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We reduced to giggles there on the steps in front of a hundred onlookers. Again, and again, and again, the giant metal door clanged shut inched from our faces. BAM! BAM! BAM! Eventually we got in. Eventually Alison's visa application was accepted (with no problems unlike a lot of others...thanks for all the prayers!!! Can't emphasise that enough!!!) and FINALLY a few days later, in the shadow of Ghengis Khan in the middle of Sukh Bator Square Alison received her Chinese visa and Canadian passport. What a crazy epic and odyssey into the world of the Chinese bureaucracy that has been over the last few months!

Despite the madness, there has been glorious respite found in North American-style restaurants, Irish pubs, a jar of Nutella, our new host Galina (another friend of April French's!) and her fabulous friendship & hospitality (just like Natasha's in Irkutsk) and the beauty of the Mongolian countryside. People here are incredibly friendly, directions are easy to obtain, and good grief things are cheap here! A 20 000 Togrog bill is worth less than $20. And there's no use of coins here. Alison has also found some relief from the effects of carbo-loading in Russia and my cold is finally easing up (for the second time!). Alison has caught a bit of my cold though...inevitable I suppose after sharing such close quarters for a month, however neither of us have gotten on each other's nerves. We've again had the pleasure of photographing in/performing for a local Mongolian church fellowship, and Alison even received an encore which was pretty funny/awesome!

Two more days and we're headed to China for the last leg of our journey...hard to believe it's coming to a close soon. But of course, there's so much more to experience so we're not looking at the final days yet. I am however, dreaming of a hot shower as I haven't had one in quite some time!

From the land of Ghengis Khan...and onto the Far East,

Jaime

ABC's of Russia Travel: A Summary

I have 15 minutes to write a quick blog while sitting in an internet cafe in the middle of Ulaan Bataar, Mongolia and want to sum up our three-week trip across Russia. Right, that's pretty impossible. So here's what I'm gonna do...

A is for the All-Mighty Dollar. The US buckaroo. Greenbacks. Or as the Russian like to say "Bucksov". No matter how down-in-the-dumps Americans are feeling about their economy, let me just remind you that the US dollar still holds rank when it comes to currency exchange in Russia (or anywhere else I've traveled to for that matter). I'm always amazed at how much sway one can hold when flashing a little bit of American greenery. Not that we've really had to thus far, but it's always close at hand in case a 'fee' needs to be paid or a form signed...

B is for Borsch-sometimes with beets, other times just cabbage, always fatty and NEVER without loads of sour cream.

C is for Cool People: Backpacking, train-hopping, drink-swigging Europeans who befriended "The Canadians" on each leg of the journey; warm, hospitable, GENEROUS locals who gave us beds to sleep in and meals to eat all the way across the largest nation on earth; the North American expats living in Russia or the odd Canadian/US traveler who decided to hop the pond and then another continent just like us and who understood that life just isn't as good without peanut butter.

D is for Debit Card. Which I stupidly left in an ATM in Moscow before the trip had barely begun. I've never done anything so dumb on a trip and was pretty peeved at myself. We've been making do by using my Visa to pay for train tickets and then Alison pays me back in Rubles, now Togrogs (in Mongolia).

E is for Excrement. You got it. No blog of mine can be left without tales from the toilet. I never talk about the Life & Times of My Bowels at home because it's really not a major event in my day to day affairs, but on the road clinging to that fine balance between constipation and the runs has been very high on our list of priorities. What we eat, the water we drink, etc. etc. all determines how the digestive system functions and we try to maintain this mantra: What goes in, MUST MUST MUST come out.

F is for Flags. I really wanted to purchase a couple Soviet flags while in Russian and never found one. Quite disappointed, but what can you do. Go back again I guess..which I'm sure I will.

G is for Gulags. Or at least one...one of the few remaining gulags semi-preserved and utterly desolate in nature. I visited Perm 36 with an American girl who hired a car to drive us two hours out into the middle of the foothills of the Urals (don't worry it was through a travel agency, not some random dude off the street) in order to visit this aging forced labour camp. Pretty depressing and slightly creepy seeing as how we were the only visitors. *Shudder*

H is for Homesickness. Got to talk to my family and Will for the first time while wrapping up our last few days in Russia and was overwhelmed with love for them and with gratefulness for their support, encouragement, financial assistance, and emails. What did long-distance travelers do without the INTERNET. Columbus, Lewis & Clark, John Franklin...good grief. I'm glad that as a 21st century wannabee 'explorer' I have the comfort of calling home. To quote Martha Stewart, "It's a Good Thing". (I have NO idea why that popped into my head).

I is for Inflation. No matter how well prepared I thought I was for this trip, I was not expecting prices in Russia to be over double what the guidebooks' most recent editions proclaimed. Inflation due to rising oil prices etc. etc. jacked up train fares to the point where Alison and I couldn't afford the first class, two-person berths we were counting on. So we settled for traveling in the Kupe class with the possibility of bunking with two other strangers. Fortunately we had our berth to ourselves on the first and last trips, and shared our berth with a lovely Russian couple on our 3-day jaunt from Perm-Irkutsk.

J is for Yours Truly. I am a grubby traveler. Next to Alison I'm a walking germfest and all because she cleans her feet and face at night, flosses religiously, and paints her toenails. I need to make perfectly clear that she's NOT a priss (and that's not because she's sitting beside me and will eventually read this) but she does these things because she likes the feeling of being clean. Me, I take great pride in ticking off how many days it's been since a shower and how black my feet are before climbing into my sleeping bag. To me it's kinda like camping and the more grubby I am the more rugged a traveler I appear to be/feel. But who am I kidding, the moment I get wind of a hot shower coming my way I am all about conditioning these locks and pulling out the mascara.

K is for Khazakstan. We keep bumping into immigrants from the 'stans'. Khazaks, Uzbekis, Tajikistanis, (really not sure HOW to label them all correctly) the whole lot of them are wildly fascinating to me and this trip has increased my desire to one day visit all the 'Stans'. "Here a stan, there a stan, everywhere a stan, stan..."

L is for Lenin. He's everywhere...kinda like Elvis, but not. Streets are still named after him, statues commemorating his ideals grace squares across the nation. Even here in Mongolia there's a bird-pooed-on version of the bald man himself standing in the middle of the city centre. And of course back in Red Square he's embalmed in wax and chemicals. Just bury the man by his mum already. (It was his dying wish...to be buried next to his mother in St. Pete.)

M is for Men. Russian Men. They really love Alison...and she could tolerate their advances because she could speak the language and flash a nasty full-on Russian "Don't you dare mess with me" look. For those of you who know Alison, you know what I'm talkin' about. I on the other hand have no such safety net, so I try to look pretty-stone cold, pull out my poker face, and regularly flash my two travel engagement rings...one worn on my left hand (North American) and one worn on my right (Russian). I've been waiting YEARS to be able to wear an engagement/wedding ring while on the road....THANK YOU WILL!!! Even better will be the day when I get to travel with my husband...now that's the ultimate deterent!

N is for Natasha, my friend April French's old roommate in Irkutsk, capital of Siberia. She was so much fun to hang out with, lavished us with hospitality, and bent over backwards just to make sure we were able to do the things we needed/wanted to while in our last Russian city on the itinerary.

O is for Odour: Fish, body odour, vodka, and cigarette smoke. Stand in a crowded hallway with a few dozen strangers for a few days and let this aromatic combination overwhelm the senses.

P is for Photography. I've been able to do church photography and portrait work in a few different places and that's been a huge blessing for others as well as myself. My eyes have been really opened to the need for more creative/technical/media tools and teaching within the Russian church community.

Q is for Quiet Time. I swear falling asleep to the sway of a rumbling train and the breeze of the pine-studded Siberian wilderness is the way to go. A little like stepping off a boat after a few days, the sway and rythmic chug-chchugg are still with me and I miss falling asleep to the lullaby of the Trans-Siberian Railway.

R is for Russian--as in the language. Which Alison has been masterfully translating for me. Really, she's quite good and we've had a lot of fun with her eavesdropping in on Russian conversations and then surprising them with her fluent Russian.

S is for Siberia. Prettier than you'd think and featuring Lake Baikal, the world's deepest lake containing 1/5th of the world unfrozen fresh water. Remote, stunning, and vaguely similar in looks to the Pacific Northwest--not Siberia, just the lake.

T is for Toilets. Train toilets. I love them, think they're somewhat humourous, and enjoy the challenge of trying to pee while squatting above a swaying metal toilet that opens up onto the tracks. I'm weird, I know, it's the honest truth.

U is for Ulaan Bataar...our current destination and the last stop on our Trans-Siberian train route. What a difference from Moscow!

V is for Vodka! Alison and I bought cool shot glasses with Soviet symbols emblazoned on the glass along with a small bottle of the ubiquitous Russian drink and toasted our 10-hour border crossing from Russia to Mongolia with shots at 1 am in our cozy little train compartment.

W is for Weddings. I got to photograph a full-on Russian Christian wedding....woooweee was that a cultural experience or what. There are very few words to describe, so I'll just make you wait until you can view the pics for yourselves!

X is for XXX which is actually for the amount of bras we've seen through shirts, black thongs we've seen under tight white pants, and curves we've seen spilling over or falling out from under various clothing choices. And that's just regarding the ladies' apparel... Lotsa giggles and sneaky photos.... lol...

Y is for You ask a Question. I've got Y and M to go and I'm feeling lazy. Period.

Z is for Red Tape. Because I used up the 'R' and it's really essential that I include this, because there's no getting around it and it's provided us with both frustration and humour. And really how the heck was I gonna incorporate a zebra into this posting.

So, that took longer than 15 minutes but if you made it to 'Z' I'm pretty sure you're glad I took the time.

Come visit again with more tales from Mongolia...Alison and I are heading out tomorrow on a 3-day trek into the countryside for some horseback riding, hiking, a two-night stay in a traditional ger (or yurt) with a nomadic family. Pretty excited! Reminds me of my trip out into the Sahara with mom!

All right...that's all folks!!!

Cheers! To Cognac for Breakfast...and Banyas for Everyone!

All right, so time is tight and I'm not sure how much I'm gonna be able to jot down here, but better a little than nothing at all I figure. Bear with me if I've repeated some of what Alison may have blogged about already at: http://www.alisontishenko.blogspot.com/

Before arriving in the more northern city of Perm where Alison and I have been for the last few days, we spent a bit of time getting our feet wet in Moscow, a city filled with under-dressed fashionistas and over-priced lattes, elaborately decorated metro stations and poorly-maintained streets, austere Soviet monuments and sparkling Tsarist gems. It's the kind of city where you can sleep till noon and sit down to breakfast begun with three shots of Cognac--which is exactly what we did the first morning!

We had the pleasure of staying with a host family right in downtown Moscow and were treated to a lovely breakfast after waking up around noon the first morning. But breakfast could not begin without toasting all our families...ahh, cognac on an empty stomach! Top that off with Russian-style cucumber & tomato salad, dumpling-like goodness, coffee and icecream. Oh, and we'd just taken Robaxacet an hour earlier to ease our sore muscles...nice combo there: relaxant, stimulant, and depressant, pretty magical I'd say.

Another classic highlight which no traveller to Moscow should miss is Red Square...which we wound up at no less than four separate times. These all include long and ridiculous stories, but from our first steps through the North gates with a view of the sun reflecting off the golden onion domes of the colourful and iconic St. Basil's Cathedral, to our solemn circuit around the decades-dead embalmed body of Lenin, we soaked up every minute of our time there. Each trip to the infamous square provided different experiences and photo ops, but when our hostess asked us each night where we'd visited, we were rather shy about telling her that we'd visited Red Square AGAIN. I think she was quite bewildered by the fact that we'd taken about 100 photos of ourselves jumping, making faces, and posing in front of St. Basil's, and was just as befuddled when she happened to see a bunch (no let me rephrase that: ALL) of Alison's photos featuring funny signs, odd sights, and general Muscovite kitsch. We had a blast, however, and our host family really blessed us with some great meals and fun conversation (most of which had to be translated into English for Yours Truly).

If there's another classic Russian tradition one should experience (besides viewing the world's most famous mummy) it's getting cleaned up at the Banya. Now for those of you who frequented my blog while I was writing from Morocco a couple years ago, you may remember my story about visiting the hammam--where I was lathered up and scrubbed silly while lying flat with my face pressed against the hot tile floors. It was humourous, it was overwhelming, it was above all, the cleanest I have EVER BEEN. And I went back for more. Since then I've developed this hankering to visit women's bathhouses the world over, and stories of Russia's famous banyas wouldn't suffice--I had to go.

Now Alison and I were conveniently staying right across the street from Moscow's premier Banya: the Sanduny Baths. Being budget travelers we chose the cheapest bathing option, which included a couple hours of access to the most basic services. Within a few minutes of emptying rubles from our pockets we were both handed head towels (we shrugged thinking we really didn't need one...) and directed to a lovely leather sectional where we could undress and store our things. We giggled as we stared wide-eyed at the opulent dressing room. Women lounged in various states of undress primping, socialising, and--get this--EATING. You could either order meals or bring in your own, plunk yourself down in a big, brown leather booth and chow down on a sandwich in the buff! I wasn't sure whether to think the system ingenious or just unhygenic...probably some mixture of both!

Alison and I proceeded to prep ourselves to enter the actual washing facilities and swung the doors open into a large tile and marble-encrusted bathroom. That's what it was, a giant bathroom with a row of open shower stalls with marble plinths just outside each one where bathers could set up their toiletries, a series of marble benches to relax upon, a smallish pool of neck-high cold water, and two mysterious wooden tubs full of water with ladders leading up to the edge. Oh and of course there were small broom-like tools consisting of birch branches which are typically used to beat bathers with. We didn't pay to have a Venik beat the tar out of us because it just wasn't in our budget, but we're definitely planning on doing so the next chance we get to try out a less expensive banya!

And then there was one more door. The door to The Sauna. The sauna is apparently whole core of the banya experience, and upon entry I promptly exited and reconsidered this whole banya deal. The only way I was going into a room that freaking hot was with a massive bottle of water by my side. The second time I swung the door open, this time with a bathtowel in one hand and a litre of water in the other, the lady in charge of heating the sauna shot me a sour look. Apparently I was letting the cool air in. I took a couple of steps forward and cried out as a blast of heat smacked my face, everyone including Alison who'd climbed the short flight of stairs up to the second level, called up to me to come quickly through the heat. I pressed through the heat and found myself herded into the fold of women and kneeling down on the slats above the first level, breathing cooler air from below. Everyone cleared a small space for me and helped me lay out my towel. I glanced around and when I noticed that each woman had their head covered in order to protect themselves from the heat, I was grateful for the extra 30 rubles I'd paid for a head towel.

So there I lay naked as a jaybird surrounded by a dozen other women all sporting their birthday suits, breathing in the thick, muggy air with ease while I inhaled as deeply and loudly as I possibly could, scared that my lungs wouldn't be able to reserve enough oxygen for me to survive on! It's amazing how quickly you forget about your nakedness when breathing becomes so important! Every minute or so I sipped water, which incidentally happened to be carbonated and exploded the second I twisted off the cap right in the middle of the sauna. I felt pretty classy at that point. Oh, and when Alison and I tried to chat we were hushed...no talking in the sauna. After five minutes I could hardly stand it anymore: my knees were bent and therefore burning as they were higher than my body, I could chew the air but barely swallow it, and the no-talking rule had me bored out of my tree. Crawling over the mass of bodies I descended the stairs and pretty much felt my face peel off as I forced my way through the heat shield I initially panicked about. I had entered the sauna dry as sand and left after only minutes soaked to the bone. Awaiting me as I exited the torture chamber were the two mysterious tubs of water, and it was ever so clear as to what their purpose was in the moment I burst forth into the bathing room.

I'm sure all of you are very aware of how much I despise cold unless it comes in the form of ice cubes in my glass, but I'm telling you that I clambered up the rungs of that ladder so fast and dunked myself into that pool so eagerly that even I was shocked at how wonderful it felt to be COLD! The rest of the bathing experience paled in comparison to the sheer delight I experienced in that little wooden tub!

And I'm terribly sorry but that's where I'm going to have to end on this edition of the TSR adventures. So much more has happened since then which I'll update you on later. There've been many touching experiences with people we've met along the way, and opportunities to share God's love have continually presented themselves. We are currently in Perm where we're experiencing a reprieve from the hot, muggy climate of Moscow, but will be returning to the heat (yea!) in a few days when we hop on a train and ride three days further into the heart of Russia--Siberia!!! Unless I have the unlikely pleasure of writing you from the YWAM base outside of Perm where we're headed tonight, I most likely won't be blogging for the next week, but there'll be plenty to share once I arrive in Irkutsk and the land of Lake Baikal!

Thanks for tagging along!