Yesterday

As I mentioned, it is hot. When the warm weather arrives in Russia, so does the Квас/Kvass (A delicous sort of fermented soda). The Квас/Kvass vendors come out of the woodwork like the seven-year locusts. On nearly every street corner someone has set up a stand, including the corner between the Ovcharov’s Apartment and the University, or my corner, as I like to call it. For the last five days I’ve walked past that Kvass wagon at least 10 times a day. As hot as it’s been the thought of enjoying a refreshing, cool glass of Kvass has consumed me. Every time I walk by I try to gather as much information as possible, in anticipation of the perfect chance. How much is it? In what quantities can you order it? What do most people usually order? Today after class I rounded the corner and the stand was deserted, only the vendor. Perfect, this is my chance. As I approach the stand someone came out from behind a bus and walked up to the tank, ok fine just a minor hitch in the plan, I stand behind him. As I’m standing in line I hear someone else come up behind me. He’s speaking very loudly and in a language I don’t understand. It’s certainly not English and I can’t pick out any Russian words, maybe it’s Bulgarian or Ukranian. Whatever it is it keeps getting louder and louder when suddenly I realize, uh, he’s talking to me. Great, this is should be interesting.

I deliver my standard line. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak very much Russian, again please, slowly.” “AH Иностранец/Foreigner» Great, uh foreigner yes. A little louder please, I don't think they heard you in Rostov. The next thing I know he's pushing me away from the Kvass lady muttering something.(the only thing I can make out is подарок/gift) 30 seconds later and in my hand is one free cup of Kvass. In my company is one drunk Russian. Uh oh, this could be dangerous.

«Медленно пожалуйста/slower please»
«I'm sorry» he says, «I've had a little to drink, I drank a liter of wine after work»
I immediately think about the size of that liter bottle of water in my bag, that's a lot of wine.
«Do you speak english?» he says.
«Yes,» I say.
And before I know what's happening he starts singing «Yesterday» by the Beatles. A few lines in and he's urging me on.
«Давай, Давай» For the sake of my personal safety, I comply. After a few versus, we stop.
«Where are you from? England?»
«No», I reply.
«Switzerland?» what? Switzerland?
«No, America»
«AH! America»
«Mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble mumble, Condoleeza Rice, mumble, mumble Putin» Uh oh, now what?
«I'm sorry, I have to go, I'm a student. I have class in 10 minutes. It was nice to meet you, thank's for the kvass.»
As I walk away he says, «The university is over there. Why are you going that way?»
«I need to get a pencil from home»
«A Pencil? I have a pencil, here take it»
Great, now what do I do?
«I need to get my notebook, I left it at at home too. Thank's again, for the Kvass»
Uh oh, he's following me. At this point I weigh my options. The only thing I know about this guy is: one, he's drunk, two, he knows I'm a foreigner and potentially even more danguerous an American, and three he likes the beatles and Kvass. If I head for home and he keeps following me, on one hand he knows where I live but on the other hand, people know me there. People who work for my host mother are always outside. I've been introduced, we exchange passing pleasantries on a daily basis, there is a small chance they'd interevene on my behalf, it's better than nothing. I make my way towards the apartment. I see Ivan, the building handy man. He's outside smoking, he lifts his hand to wave. «Дравствуйте» he says. Good, he saw me. Most importantly he saw my drunk tail. I approach the door, pull out my watch and my key to the stairs. This is it, this is the moment.
«I'm sorry, I say I reall need to go» pointing at my watch. My heart starts racing this is it. Is he going to follow me in the building? Can I unlock the stairs and slam the door in his face? Am I going to be another statistic in the state department travel warnings?
«Of course» he says as he reaches out to hug me.
Hug? Yes, it was the first hug I've gotten since I left Indianapolis and I don't even know his name.