Whatever you do, don't start a fire in Moscow

Jason and I got to have a brief encounter with some of the Moscow Fire Department last night. At about 1:30 in the morning we hear the door buzz, then banging. We throw some clothes on and answer the door, where some firefighters are standing in the hallway. They are young (like 18-20), and a couple of them are giggling like mad. I say giggling, cause I can't think of a better word, but its a sort of silly laughing you do when you've drank too many malt beverages. We assure the men that the fire isn't in our apartment, so they buzz the apartment next door. We close the door, but watch through the peephole (what a glorious invention). No answer. The firefighters attempt to kick the door in. They must not think it's that serious, because no one swings their pickaxe at the flimsy wood door, but give it a few solid kicks. Voices yell out from inside. No fire in here. They still won't open the door. A couple of the fireguys are now sitting in the hallway, laughing, but apparently the supervisor, a bit older, thinks this is fishy.

He takes off his oxygen tank, lights a cigarette, and kicks the door again. He asks the question again, was there, at any time, a fire in this apartment. Oh right, the voice say, there was a fire. In a frying pan. It's fine now. The people never come out of the apartment, and I think the woman may have lied about being alone (there was a man in there too). Totally sketchy. What could they have been doing in there? I don't think crystal meth is very popular here, so I ruled out that. Stolen merchandise? Hiding illegal immigrants? Illegal glass-blowing? I have to mention that this is a nice new apartment building. But it is curious. Makes me wonder what is so mysterious and worth hiding that you wouldn't open the door for firemen. Or maybe they were dressed up funny, like German school girls. Who knows, though the best part was definitely Captain Fireguy lighting a cigarette while attempting to investigate a fire. Yes, sir, now is definitely the time for a Malboro Light.

The trip to Krasnodar was great, and filling. Jason's host mom insisted that we eat, and eat, and keep eating...and of course, all of it was god, filling starchy foods your grandmother favors. They were entirely lovely people though, and my true saving grace. I needed to be around warm sweet people for a weekend. And walking around streets that weren't covered in construction and towering gray buildings. Krasnodar had trees, and paths, and sweet and dirty-smelling wind. It was lovely. The 26-hour-train ride down, was cool for the first three hours, then lost its novel charm. Being stuck in small, cramped spaces just makes you want to sleep and perhaps read. Not very romantic, indeed.

This is called lunch in Jason's host mom's house. Other people call this a crap ton of fun.

Jason and Lisa walking down the main drag in Krasnodar. We are currently searching for the tofu store. This magical little place had blocks of fresh tofu, which is called "Cheese-tofu" here. Lisa had brought us stick-on fake mustaches from the US, so we sat around a couple of night, drinking wine, wearing mustaches, and taking turns reading from the sixth Harry Potter book.


Babooshka, or grandma, sipping tea after lunch. She couldn't pronouce "Courtney" (Russian girls names always have "a" or "ya" at the end... an "ee" ending sound very strange to them), so she just called me "Helper" or "Young Lady". My Russian students thought this was hilarious, though for the record, I can't remember any of them using my name either. Ah well, "you" works in any language.