Last night I met up with some friends for dinner. We sat on the patio of a Georgian place on the Arbat - all very charming until that (inevitable) Russian moment of drunken youth vomiting en passant. He never slowed so left a trail 15 feet long for all to enjoy mid dinner. Ah Moscow. We then got to watch the passing hordes squeal and avoid or tromp obliviously through the man's last supper.
Liz gets back this afternoon from her mountaineering expedition. She called last night to say that she had fainted from altitude sickness and had to be carried off the mountain. Looking forward to all the stories over a nice dinner this evening.
1 comment:
Once, when I was standing in line at the Moscow airport to board my plane, a stray cat wandered over to where we were standing, looked up at us, and threw up. It's a Moscow tradition, like bread and salt.
Post a Comment