Sunday...I think. What the hell time is it?

Happy Mother's day!

We got up early and decided to head out before the rest of the group arrived around noon. I tried to get my phone to work but I couldn't text Tommy. Damn Cingular! Christine Jones I'm going to have to have a word with you about this world phone!

A couple of observations so far:
Apparently the folks around here don't start the day until after 9 because we couldn't find a coffee shop or a cafe that was open before then. What a bunch of slack-asses. Also there isn't any coffee to go around here. You have to sit and drink it in the shop. You can buy a beer from a street vendor and walk around like a common hobo drinking from the bottle, but God forbid you have a cup of coffee!

The owner of our hostel has Ikea stock. Everything in the place is from Ikea. The bunk beds, chairs, lighting and even the door handle to the shower that Dave had to break because the door wouldn't open.

It's true what they say about the cops wanting $$$ from tourists. Greg was walking into a Metro station with beer in hand and a copy pulled him aside. Thankfully a Russian woman spoke English and translated for us. He wanted a $10 fine for carrying the beer into the Metro. Tommy told him we'd call our embassy and ask how much the fee is before we pay it. The cop relented and told us to throw out the beer and have a good day. After the urine in Greg's pants dried we all did indeed had a good day.

Vodka is on every menu. It's flavored, colored, in tall glasses or shot, with sugar on the rim or straight up. Have it your way. And we did. Only one shot for me so far. Not bad though.

Directions aren't what they should be. Or maybe Nastia is really, really slow. When we asked her about an internet cafe she thought the closest one was two metro stops, a transfer, two more stops and a blocks worth of walking. After consulting the local waitress it turns out this internet cafe is two blocks from our hostel. Last time we as Nastia for anything except clean towels.

It's not the second hand smoke that will kill you....wait a second, yes it will. Man, this place is definitely Marlboro Country. I should become a tobacconist here. I'd make a killing. Of course i'd be dead by 50 from lung cancer. I swear I picked something out of my nose the other day that could have fueled a locomotive. This thing looked like a hunk of coal.

That's all for now. Good stuff to come tomorrow.

B