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Sochi Mess!

The Source

Sochi Mess! Pity the poor Russians. I really do. I’ve not been to Sochi were the Olympic games are being held, but when I read the reports from the various journalists about hotels without water, streets without pavement, and bathrooms without walls, it bring back memories of when I took my fearless little group from the Jacksonville area to the Soviet Union. Bottom line: no matter it’s power and military might, the country suffers from decades of ineptitude and the lack of attention to detail has become generational. If you’ve never had a toilet that actually worked, how would you know when you get one? I well remember the first sight of our Moscow hotel. I remember it because it wasn’t a hotel, it was a boat. The East German Olympic team had floated it into the Moscow Bay for a previous contest and left it there so the Soviets converted it into a hotel . . . .sort of. The see-through bathroom walls should have been a hint. We found that the adjoining rooms had adjoining shower stalls. When you took a shower in your stall, your shape was plainly visible in the next room. After walking into my bathroom and seeing the shape of one of my female students through the wall I slammed the door and immediately called a meeting of my group of students. “Here’s the routine,” I said. “You must knock twice on the adjoining wall before you disrobe. If someone knocks back then wait to take your shower.” Yankee ingenuity, Cass County style. Our room had five lights and two light bulbs but the lady at the front desk said she was out. It’s tough, but you can carry a light bulb from room to room with you if you have to. One of our rooms had no working bulbs so we learned to pass them along at dinner. Would someone please pass the 60 watt? Dinner. I’ve eaten fish soup, but never with the fish staring at me. Each bowl of the chowder featured a very large fish head floating atop a greasy sea of something salty. No matter how many times I’d flip the fishy head over it would bob back up and continue staring at me. It wasn’t totally tasteless but I confess to feeling guilty throughout the entire meal. I’d thought that years in theatre and in the Middle School classroom had taught me to maintain my concentration no matter what the distraction, but when a man uses a restroom with female attendants standing behind you….well. . . you can only stretch concentration so far. And these were all very matronly old gals who closely resembled a rather ragged version of my grandmother. One restroom visit was memorable. I wear a cross around my neck and when I entered the toilet the lady attendant just went gaga over the thing. She thought it was beautiful and she kept reaching up to touch it. All I wanted to do was get to the urinal and quickly, so I smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and headed toward the porcelain. That’s when I heard them. The old gal was so taken with my cross that she’d called in several of her lady friends from the hallway and while I stood there trying to think of green meadows and snowy mountains, I saw a hand creep across my shoulder to grab the cross. Before I knew what was happening, I was literally being choked by the string on my necklace as my attendant had grabbed the cross and was dragging it behind my neck to show the others. With my one free hand I slipped the cross off my neck and said, “Spasiba! Spasiba! Thank you! Take it, please!” She did. And in return I got a whole handful of tiny lapel pins bearing the frowning countenance of Lenin. Now I know what Lenin was frowning. He was trying to find a private place to tinkle. The entire Soviet adventure was one breakdown after another. We got on a bus that couldn’t be persuaded to run so we waiting patiently for another. We were warned by the conductor on our train to Leningrad to stay awake all night so we’d not be robbed. One of my boys left his passport on the train and I had to bribe my way with panty hose all the way through the guards the next day to search the train. (We found it! God is in Russia!) Our guide said that the best bribe was a set of windshield wipers but silly me, I’d forgotten to pack any. The doors of our Leningrad hotel would not lock. The good news: a man stood out in the hallway all night and watched our doors. And in my life I have never encountered a people more gracious, more wanting to please, and frankly more afraid of us than the Russians. That’s been several years ago but in reading the reports out of Sochi it seems as if little has changed. ‘Tis a pity. I genuinely loved those folks.