ohb

The Big Red Fun Bus rides again

Listening to Lambchop sounding like Prince, Saturday morning in Siberia. It's bright and sunny outside but that doesn't fool me.
I sewed green ribbon on to my hat last night as it slipped when I wore it, now I look like Little Bo Peep, the difference being that my sheep are not lost, they're on my head. I think perhaps it is fox fur, my friend Nadya's mom took great pleasure in telling me that hers was made from a vixen, how they determined that female foxes are warmer than males I don't know and to be honest I've been trying to ignore any thoughts of the dead animals that adorn the Russian population. All my students are obsessed with the idea that we non Russians think that there are bears parading through the streets of Siberia. I think the blame must lie with one tactless foreigner who came up with this stereotype. At the same time though I feel like telling them, this idea is not far wrong, the only difference being that all the bears are dead and draped over the shoulders of big boisterous Russian babushkas. A trip into town on a busy day entails being shoved, squashed and snuggled against various dead animals, who have been meticulously combed and groomed by their proud owners. It is not sufficient to have the fur of just one animal, apparently the done thing is to have a contrasting trim of another former member of the animal kingdom.
Well if anyone was reading the previous entry I suppose I better finish the story for fear of losing the few readers I have accumulated (aka KK). Well sitting on the "Big Red Fun Bus" surrounded by the cackling, chortling and coughing of ageing Russian women, I peered hopefully out the window, willing myself to recognise something in the dark night. Before any of the women had a chance to hop out I realised we were passing the hostel, I bounded out of my seat frightening some of the other passengers in the process and asked the driver to stop. The women were a bit cautious about letting me go, but I explained to them as best as possible, involving a lot of pointing and gesticulation that this was indeed my temporary abode. With a few smiles and many curious stares, I was allowed to get off, I think in a way there were sad to lose the temporary distraction that made this day slightly different from the others that fill the mundane week of a bus conductor in Irkutsk. I got off, crossed the road and went home to Natasha.

posted by orlagh @ 7:54 pm