Day 25

A Day of Firsts

Awake in the night. The first time I've heard a siren of some emergency vehicle downtown somewhere.
The first hotel breakfast I've served that I didn't like. It was an egg and meat omelet. I took a few bites and had to quit. It tasted fatty.

I planned on eating one of the many bags of instant oatmeal imported by our own loving hands, but didn't have much of an appetite.

Got a call from Olga. It's set. Court is Thursday and the girls will attend. Ah. I'm looking forward to it.

Tanya came by about a half hour early. She talked about family and how good it was that we were a big family. I think this is something she and Anya have been trying to communicate to Sasha. It seems to be at the crux of some wayward thinking on Sasha's part. Like we could choose to adopt individuals.

Off for a manicure. Tanya completely occupied one lady for 3 hours. I had no idea fake nails would take so long. I was going to just get some simple polish, but ended up requesting artwork reminiscent of the painted plates I had seen in souvenir shops in Kiev. It should compliment my outfit for Thursday's court. Okay, it's a little over the top for me, but a treat for a weary traveler, far from home. (I would never do this in Boulder, eh Wendy?) My fingernails are works of art!

Three hours and 50 painted fingernails later, we caught cabs for 'Absolut Cafe'. Not a chain, Anya says. Borshch, cabbage salad, chicken fried steak, cheese dumplings were consumed in a flurry. This is a clean cafe with lovely curtains, tile floors, TV, and lighting. A delightful ambiance. I catch a glimpse of a gray tail moving across the floor. Then a small gray cat jumps on one of the chairs at our table. A cat in a restaurant? That's a first! He came over to where I was sitting, and I stroked his soft back fur, then scratched his back. I think he was begging. I have a strict no-cats-in-the-lap rule while I'm eating. I scooted closer to the table. I tried not to think of my own beloved beasties at home.

We stepped out into early evening. The rain had turned to snow. Time to take the girls home.

We had dropped the girls off and turned onto the boulevard when the cabbie pulled over. He got out and went around to the back of the car and back in again. He sheepishly said something in Russian and got back out. We could walk to the hotel, and I told Rolan but I couldn't get out. The left back door was locked form the outside, and he was working on the rear right wheel where I was sitting. If I opened the door I would hit him in the head. The back hatch opened. Tools removed. Jack the car. A few minutes passed. It appeared he was moving quickly. Rolan got out and tried to explain that we could walk. The cabbie insisted that we stay put. Rolan got back in. OK. Front hood opened. What, the engine too? What kind of car is this? Unknown. A tire was removed from under the hood. A few more minutes. He was working as quickly as he could, I was sure. Changing a tire in the dark in the snow with people in your car cannot be a pleasant moment in the day of a taxi driver. Back hatch opened. Tools returned. Front hood came down. Car started. I should have timed him. "Bistra," (fast) I said. He laughed and smiled.