Hangover day.
Reminders of the previous night kept turning up. Adidas Sergey actually turned up at our sleeping compartment at eight in the morning armed with a dozen beers and a plate of dried fish. Whoa mate, a bit early don't you think? I'm still working last night's vodka out of my system - Sergey seemed confused by our lack of continued enthusiasm, and our compartment companion Officer Yuri ended up having to turn him out of the room. Then creepy Oh-so-half-naked Russian Man knocked on our door (does that guy even own a shirt?) and also tried to ply us with more drinks. Yuri had to turn him out too. Twice. I believe our approval ratings with Yuri diminished somewhat after that.
It was a quiet day with light bursts of good humoured conversations and funny last-night's-photos recollection with our new friends. We tried some pirozhkis made by some of the platform baboushkas, but resisted from buying any shawls, stuffed toys or taxidermied animals. The day (and another timezone) passed quickly into our last evening on train number 340.
We soon discovered that French Roger was packing an ultra light electric guitar, complete with a little amp, and it didn't take long for us to have a pleasant little alcohol-free sing-a-long session going. Turned out Neil was also quite talented on the frets too, and we were all grooving to the music when ...
Sergey discovered us. It was alright at first, but halfway through the next song a whole lot of plates of food and a bottle of vodka turned up. What on earth ...? "Happy Birthday!" Sergey announced, again, at which point, as Maerii aptly put it, we all turned green. It was impossible trying to convince him that it was his birthday yesterday, and we all had a great time and all, but we couldn't possibly do it again today. One by one some of us peeled off back to our beds, unable to cope with the prospect of another hangover. Kudos to the kids that stayed up to help the poor guy celebrate his birthday, again.
Reminders of the previous night kept turning up. Adidas Sergey actually turned up at our sleeping compartment at eight in the morning armed with a dozen beers and a plate of dried fish. Whoa mate, a bit early don't you think? I'm still working last night's vodka out of my system - Sergey seemed confused by our lack of continued enthusiasm, and our compartment companion Officer Yuri ended up having to turn him out of the room. Then creepy Oh-so-half-naked Russian Man knocked on our door (does that guy even own a shirt?) and also tried to ply us with more drinks. Yuri had to turn him out too. Twice. I believe our approval ratings with Yuri diminished somewhat after that.
It was a quiet day with light bursts of good humoured conversations and funny last-night's-photos recollection with our new friends. We tried some pirozhkis made by some of the platform baboushkas, but resisted from buying any shawls, stuffed toys or taxidermied animals. The day (and another timezone) passed quickly into our last evening on train number 340.
We soon discovered that French Roger was packing an ultra light electric guitar, complete with a little amp, and it didn't take long for us to have a pleasant little alcohol-free sing-a-long session going. Turned out Neil was also quite talented on the frets too, and we were all grooving to the music when ...
Sergey discovered us. It was alright at first, but halfway through the next song a whole lot of plates of food and a bottle of vodka turned up. What on earth ...? "Happy Birthday!" Sergey announced, again, at which point, as Maerii aptly put it, we all turned green. It was impossible trying to convince him that it was his birthday yesterday, and we all had a great time and all, but we couldn't possibly do it again today. One by one some of us peeled off back to our beds, unable to cope with the prospect of another hangover. Kudos to the kids that stayed up to help the poor guy celebrate his birthday, again.
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