It’s Just a Few Drops of Vodka…

The mind is a horrible thing to pickle with vodka


Jen and Matt bonding
One more for the Road!

Sasha, his woman, and Max
Its a tickle attack!
The pain of the night finds me

A painful moment
Lets face it, while I sit in Moscow, I have nutting to do,
so I do what I want, I party. I now know all the cool yet cheap
bars in Moscow. Unfortunately, there are only a few, so I’m now
bored. I am starting to tap the massive house party scene here.
See Russians do not got out for a party, but usually throw
one in their house. This is a vestige of a time when there wasn’t
any place to hold a party. As my circle of friends grow, so
do the opportunities to inebriate myself in the comfort of someone’s
home. This past week I went to two house parties, one small, one
big.

The American party was thrown by a friend of mine, Jennifer. She
is an ex-PCV living the good life in Moscow, giving us all an example to
follow. I have no idea, well I don’t remember actually, why she
threw the party, but it was quite fun. Jen, her housemate and
fellow ex-PCV Marcie, and I started out just chilling and talking, then
people started to arrive. Our friends from Ryazan, Sasha,
his girlfriend, and Max and another ex-PCV, Matt. We started to
drink before dinner was served, and the conversation flowed as free as
the alcohol.

After dinner and a few more drinks, we made our way to the next
party, at another ex-PCV’s apartment. Tamala has an amazing view
from her balcony on the 25th floor. All of Moscow’s center,
including the Kremlin, TV tower, Hotel Russia, MGU, and environs are
visible from the Stalin building where she lives. I was amazed and
scared by the view. The balcony came up to my waist but did not
have a railing. If someone pushed me as I stood at the edge, I
would go right over, turning into puree when I hit the mesh screen
protecting the entrance. All that night I had nightmares about
that balcony!

At this second, larger party, a language gulf emerged. The
English speakers separated from the Russian speakers slowly but surely.
Each group would tire of the stress of translation and slip back
into their native lounge. It is unfortunate, but natural. I
tried to cross back and forth between the two until the vodka took hold.
There was a group of Russians who kept making me drink. ‘It
just a few drops of vodka,’ they would say as they poured me 100 cl
of the clear liquid. Now I can handle a bit of vodka, everyone here has
to, but not that much. Soon I was looking at the inside of my
eyes, opting to sleep before I drank too much.

Later that night everyone headed to a nearby bar to
usher in the dawn in style. Yours truly went home and curled up to
await the dawn in pain. Oh, that was a long day!