They still don't understand me

I noticed that my glasses case is beginning to get worn around the edges. It’ll last a while, but since I had a hard time finding such a small one I figured I’d better start looking when it’s convenient. With that in mind, I stopped into a little shop near home and said, in Russian, “I came to see if you have a case the size of these glasses.” I took them off and showed them to her.

“What diopter?” she asked me.

“I just want a case,” I replied.

She walked over and opened up a display cabinet. I stepped behind her and saw that the cabinet contained glasses that looked vaguely similar to mine, but no glasses cases at all.

“No,” I corrected her, “I just want a case.”

“A case!?” she asked incredulously. “They’re over here.” (She only had big ones.)

I walked out of the store trying to figure out the difference between what I said and what she said. I played it over and over in my mind. They sounded about the same to me, and I couldn’t immediately identify the important difference. Finally, I figured it out: I said “fotliar” and she said “fotlyar.” They probably look about the same to my readers who don’t speak Russian, and they sound about the same to me. But I got tripped up, again, with a diphthong. I’m not sure diphthongs even exist in Russian, and the second variant, the Russian spelling, includes a vowel we don’t have at all in English: “ya.” Yes, “ya” is a vowel, and I’m told it’s not a diphthong. Here it is: “Я.”

I’ll probably get directly to the glasses cases next time I try.

[Addendum, a few days later: Alla points out that my REAL mistake was in the first vowel. It's futlyar, not fotlyar.]

Book excerpt

I'm working with a life coach to help me set goals and get things done. We're early in the process, but I'm making good progress. Among other things, I'm finally working once again on the memoir I started writing altogether too long ago. (I'm compiling travel stories and life lessons from notes my first wife and I made during our years together.) Today I re-worked a story from the bottom of Copper Canyon in Mexico, in 1998. I think you'll enjoy this excerpt:

It all started out ordinarily enough, as a walk to Cerro Colorado. We knew the village from the year before, but Jim had ideas to add some features to the trip. To get a good start on the day, we had the rhythm guitarist drive us to the end of the aqueduct, where we picked up the trail to Cerro Colorado. The first part of the trip was as we remembered; beautiful and not too hard. We saw again the mill for the gold mine in operation, jumped rocks across the stream from time to time, and crossed the swing bridge into the town. We sat for a while with Ofelia's family. Jim hoped someone would be driving back to Batopilas later in the afternoon, so that we could spend our time going further upstream to a Tarahumara village rather than hike back to the hotel. Our host thought that for 300 pesos, he could find us a driver. I objected that this seemed high, though Jim thought it was about right. Since he really wanted to travel that way, he offered to split the cost with us. In the end, when we understood how long and hard the trip was by car, we agreed that the price was reasonable but the hotel ended up picking up the tab for all of us. I think they were glad to get us back alive.

Freed then from the walk back, we began an extremely beautiful and very difficult two-hour hike up the river to the remote village. We walked atop a one-foot-wide stone-wall aqueduct for quite a while. As you know, this sort of thing wasn’t among Luci’s strengths, and she avoided looking down because she didn’t want to think about how far she’d drop if she fell. I judged that occasionally the drops would have been well over one story: farther than either of us wanted to jump. Most of the hike, fortunately, followed more traditional, ever-rocky Copper Canyon trails. In one place, we walked through a refreshing stream in lieu of passing around handholds over a large rock.

The village center at Munerachi consisted of an old locked-up adobe mission, plastic Quonset hut class rooms, a dormitory, and a very few other buildings. Around us, and up on the cliffs, we could see the families' ranches. We walked into one of the classrooms, in session, to give the teacher the pens Luci had brought as gifts. We delighted at a roomful of beautiful faces, the students all sitting at traditional desks working at math and Spanish.

We didn't have enough time to stay. Our ride back was supposed to leave Cerro Colorado at 5:00, so we came back along the beautiful canyon, happily finding alternative paths in several places, minimizing the time spent on the aqueduct on the way back. Tired, Luci thought the aqueduct looked a lot scarier the second time.

We made it back to Cerro on time, but our driver was not there. We visited Ofelia's family again, chatting and waiting. A violent screeching of pigs interrupted our conversation. Pigs and piglets roamed freely in the town, and we imagined that a fight had erupted among them. Going outside to look, we found a guy tying up two big ones. Luci feared that we’d have to stand there and watch them get slaughtered, but instead men loaded them into the back of a truck; the very truck we would be taking to Batopilas. Jim and a local guy stood in the back with the pigs. The two of us got in the front with the driver, who was drinking the local beer. Judging by the flood of urine when we stopped along the way, I'd say he'd already enjoyed LOTS of it, though I managed to restrict him to two cans during the drive.

Then we began very slowly to navigate the terrifying dirt road back down the canyon to Batopilas. We stopped several times along the way. At one point our driver purchased a bottle of homemade brew called lechugilla, from a fellow riding his horse more or less along our route. The liquor was in an old whiskey bottle, sealed with a corncob. Lechugilla is a type of agave that only grows in this part of Mexico, so we understood the beverage to be some sort of homemade tequila. Erasmo, the driver, offered us a drink but we declined and set the bottle on the floor, out of his reach.

In spite of, or perhaps because of, any alcohol-induced impairment, Erasmo drove the curves very carefully. Some of them were so tight he had to back up and reposition to edge the truck around in the space available. We jostled back and forth down the canyon wall, fording a stream seven times as we worked our way to Batopilas. I kept Erasmo engaged in conversation as best I could, because he drank less while he was talking. It would have been a scary ride even with a great driver in a new vehicle.

We didn't get to the inn in time to hear the ranchero music before dinner, but we still sneaked off to take a bath before arriving a few minutes late for the meal itself. Nobody would have wanted to sit with us without the bath anyway.

Tricky Russian marketing

I chew gum when I’m in Belarus, though I don’t often chew gum in the USA. The difference is Dirol, a Russian brand. I particularly like their lemon flavor, though I also enjoy the mint and the lime. It’s not too expensive and it’s always right there at the checkout line at the grocery store, so I usually have some in a pocket somewhere.

Last autumn, my packages of gum kept disappearing. One day I’d know where it was and the next day I wouldn’t, so I’d have to open a new package. They all reappeared at once when we came back this winter, so I haven’t had to open a new package until today. I bought this one, mind you, the day we arrived. I had to: it was a new flavor, Dirol for Him. The picture on the package shows a cool drink with mint leaves floating in it, so I bought it and it’s been sitting there near my desk for a couple of weeks.

Today I re-lost my last package of Dirol lemon. It’s still three-quarters full, but after it stayed lost for a day or two, I decided I could open the new Dirol for Him as I walked out the door. Amazingly, the Dirol company has arrived at a flavor that every man knows but has never tasted. Worldwide, wherever there’s a urinal, there’s a janitor who throws in little candies whose aroma apparently covers up whatever smells might otherwise waft up from down there. This gum tastes exactly like what I imagine those urinal candies taste like. I’m not going to finish the package, but I have to acknowledge Dirol’s understanding of the male psyche.

Speaking of Dirol, I copied the picture in the second paragraph from advertising on the internet. But while I was looking for it, I found another interesting picture, perhaps not from an official Dirol ad:

Mouthwash in Minsk

We’re back in Minsk now, and I’ve been busy with little details. Among other things, I stopped in at the State Department Store (“TSUM”) to pick up some mouthwash. Alla always buys the stuff made in Belarus, which I don’t particularly like, so I figured I’d try something new. I noticed a bottle on the top of the shelf called “Forest Balm,” with pictures of all the flowers supposedly squeezed into the bottle. This bottle was attached to a smaller bottle of a different kind of Forest Balm, and the label said “1 + 1 Gift”

“Ooh,” I thought, “Good deal! Second bottle free. I should buy this last package.” As a reality check, I looked for a regular bottle of Forest Balm on the lower shelf. The one on the lower shelf didn’t have so many flowers on the label, but it was only 40,000 rubles and I figured the “1 + 1 Free” set would cost about the same.

The cashier delivered shocking news: My pair of bottles would cost 60,000 rubles. I asked her why it was so much, and she shrugged, pointing out that I was getting two bottles. I complained about the “free” business, but didn’t have much of a leg to stand on because this deluxe bottle had all those flowers on the label and there was nothing comparable on the lower shelves.

Frankly, I don’t know what’s inside either bottle. I read too slowly in Russian to bother with it, and ingredient lists certainly aren’t my forte. The good news is that the extra 20,000 rubles won’t break the bank. It’s about a dollar, but I’m amused to find that I’m still incompetent sometimes in Belarusian shops.

A day with Turks

We flew from Boston to Istanbul last night, on Turkish Airways. It felt like we got an inexperienced crew on a poorly-prepared airplane, a far different experience from our first trips on Turkish Airways. Nevertheless, I slept pretty well and didn’t mind the long trip much.

Alla wanted to stay in a nice hotel this time and minimize her time on the streets because of recommendations by the Russian Government. A nice hotel sounded good to me too, and we agreed on the Hyatt Regency, which we were able to book at a deep discount on Expedia. The hotel got us in the end, though. And we don’t mind.

I read an article a couple of days ago by a hotel employee who explained who gets the best treatment and why. He stated clearly what I had understood to some extent by experience: If the hotel knows you’re a price-conscious shopper (you bought at a discount rate from a service) they don’t expect you to come back if you can’t find such a good deal next time. I tried anyway. Our Expedia deal didn’t include breakfast, but we had paid up for a view room so I tried to sweet-talk the clerk into giving us breakfast coupons. He wouldn’t give in, but assured us that we’d enjoy an excellent buffet for an additional 30 Euros apiece. He also offered an alternative, an upgrade to a “Regency Club” room at a discount rate not much more than the cost of those two breakfasts.

We took the upgrade and got moved up by eight stories, free supper (“snacks”), free breakfasts and a somewhat bigger room. Once we saw the snacks, we knew we’d done the right thing. It was a perfect light dinner for us on the first night of our big change in time zones, and we enjoyed the company of the hotel staff who attended to us, and great views in a beautiful place.

After eating, we went off to the pool and swam for a while, took a sauna, and came back to our delightful room. Alla brought with her a gift of two lemons, a gift from the tea lady in her side of the spa. When you add everything up, we still saved a considerable amount of money by flying Turkish Airways and staying here, and we’re having an excellent time.

Christmas Eve in Boston

This afternoon, Alla and I decided to go out for a walk to see some Christmas decorations around the city. We went down to the financial district after most businesses had already sent their employees home early for Christmas Eve. We didn’t know how many buildings we’d be able to get into, what with general security concerns and the fact that the businesses weren’t generally open. As it turns out, we got in almost everywhere we wanted to go.

I particularly enjoyed visiting an undisclosed location because we weren’t really supposed to take any pictures inside that building. I didn’t know that and I liked their big Christmas tree, so I took a picture through the window and took Alla around to the door by the guard desk to see if they’d let us in. The guards looked furtively around and motioned for us to wait quietly. I don’t know what we waited for, but ultimately he let us in. Another guard asked that we photograph only the tree and not anything that would make it easy to know the building's address.

A guy came running out of the lobby café and told us that he’s a professional photographer and he wanted to take some pictures for us. We posed for a bunch of photos with my phone.

We visited several more buildings, walked along the shore and otherwise enjoyed our city. When we got home, we enjoyed a delightful pot-luck dinner with our neighbors, who brought delicious food and warmed our hearts with their sincere friendship. Christmas is starting out very well.

For more pictures, look here.

Rainy day at the beach

Today we planned to take an excursion to Tulum, but the weather forecast this morning led us to change our plans. It started raining yesterday, and the rain can come down pretty hard here. Fortunately it's still reasonably warm out and it's not raining all the time. But anyway, we didn't want to spend an hour and a half to get to Tulum only to discover that we'd arrived at the time of a deluge. So we made other plans.

It was almost sunny first thing in the morning, so I decided to go for a walk while Alla went to yoga. I put on my "rashguard" shirt (intended to get wet) and my board shorts before setting out barefoot to walk down the shore to Blue Dolphin beach, where the locals hang out south of us. I had almost the entire beachfront to myself as I headed down, the humid wind pushing on my back. As I neared my goal, raindrops began pecking at me and I considered turning around. But why should I? The rain felt good.

By the time I did turn around, the rain fell heavily, blowing into my face. I wished I'd brought my dark glasses, not to protect me from the sun but from the heavy raindrops. I made a visor of my hand and started walking faster. To my right, I noticed that the waves now had texture. The water rippled in the wind, and many shapes and colors tumbled over the waves' basic geometry. "Ooh," I thought. "This is new, and I like it."

I got back to the hotel way too soon, so I continued about the same distance in the other direction, figuring I'd prefer to finish by walking downwind anyway.

As I returned, I passed four intrepid women doing yoga on the beach, and a fisherman trawling his baited hook over and over in the surf. He told me it's possible to catch big fish here, but he had nothing to show today. I came home wet, completely wet, head-to-toe wet as if I'd been swimming. It was great.

Later, we went to have lunch at Pescadillas el Galeón, a fish joint recommended by a local we met at another tiny lunch spot. This place is so basic, it has no electricity and no running water, though we didn't lack for water in general because rain washed down heavily on their thatched roof. I had come dressed for walking in the rain, so I had no camera with me. I felt sorry about my lack of camera when we got there, because the place is totally cute. Cooks worked over open fires while a worker kept the woodpile stocked and the waiter kept the tables. I wasn't terribly impressed by the food, but would love to show you a picture of the place. Here's somebody else's photo, courtesy of Trip Advisor.

We worried that today might be boring, but we're having an excellent last day.