More Funny Stories...

So tonight when I came home, I had quite an interesting experience.

I pressed the number on the keypad to enter the building. Strangely, as I walked inside, I noticed that the entrance to the basement was open and letting out a musty stench. It's usually closed and letting out that same stench. I stopped to listen for a moment, curious to find out what was going on. After realizing that faint Russian is even more difficult to understand than normal Russian, I resigned and entered the elevator, pressing the button for the seventh floor. When the elevator stopped, it shed light into an otherwise pitch black stairwell. Is this normal? I thought. Is it usually so dark in here? The answer was no. So, I whipped out my handy-dandy cell phone for some lighting (which, of course, was so meager that I could barely see my hand in front of my face) and held it down to the lock on the door.

While I was fumbling with my keys, I heard some shuffling behind me.

I froze.

What or who could possibly be behind me? If it's an intruder, how do I get out of this situation? I could run up the stairs...but to where? I could run down the stairs, but they're blocking the way. I could jump back in the elevator, but it's already closed and gone back down to the bottom. I could run into my apartment quickly, but it stinking takes me five minutes just to unlock the door...what do I do?

What else could I do? I turned around and peered into the darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a hunched figure glaring back at me. "Kakoe kashmar," it said, which means "what a horror" or "how awful". New rule: Babushkie should NOT lurk around in the darkness.

She and I chatted for a minute, and I told her that I had heard voices in the basement, so I thought they were probably just working, and everything would be back on in a moment.

I turned back around to continue unlocking the outer door. Once opened, I stepped into the entryway for my neighbors and I share, but not before hearing something to my left.

Seriously? Again? I thought as I froze in place.

I let my eyes adjust to the darkness of the entryway and saw my neighbor standing there in her pajamas, peering back at me.

For the love of Pete, I thought, don't these people give any warning? GET A FLASHLIGHT!!!

My neighbor and I chatted for a moment, and I told her the same thing I had told the lurking babushka. She, in turn, asked me if I was a new tenant, and I reported to her my current living situation. Then she began calling to the floor above us for Vlad. I don't know who Vlad is, but I'm guessing he's a man who knows how to fix things. Because Vlad is a man's name...and the lights needed fixing?

When I finally got inside my flat, the lights had all been turned back on.

THE END.

Serpukhov

Serpukhov is a lovely little suburb of Moscow. I went there with a few friends a couple of weeks ago and it was lovely. We just walked around and looked at stuff. Here are some pictures:

This is just a nice little street.

This is just a nice little painting on a gate. It made us laugh.

Sasha? Help me out here. This is the entrance to an old monastery, I think?

I desperately wanted to explore the insides of this building. I can't remember if this was an old church or if it was an old part of the monastery wall...Sasha?

A nice monastery with a nice wall...

Fact: I should really start putting pictures up sooner before I forget all the details.

Funny Stories...

My priest here is a LEGEND.

During one of my first visits to St. Antipa's, I came to confession with Father Vladimir. I handed him my list, which I had thoughtlessly written in English, he looked at it confusedly, realized what I was (an American) and absolved me. This led him to believe that I spoke absolutely no Russian whatsoever. That same day, when I began to approach him to venerate the cross at the end of service, I heard him whispering to the acolyte, "Here comes the American woman. Here she comes. Do you see her? Here she comes. Oh, here she is. Here's the American woman. She's right here. There she goes. There goes the American. Did you see her? She just passed by."

A few weeks following that great moment, I came up to take communion. Father Vladimir knows my name. I'm the only American in our parish. So what does he decide to communion me as? "American woman". Be sure to say that with a heavy Russian accent. I almost died laughing. On that same day during coffee hour, my friends and I are seated and talking, and down comes Father Vladimir playing the blues on the harmonica. WHAT??? He was actually really good at it! I was totally surprised, however, when he walks up to me and is like, "You're an American woman, you know the blues! Sing with me!!" I, regretfully, said no. He proceeds to calm himself for about five minutes before he gets up again and starts walking behind people, blowing the harmonica in their ears to scare them.

THAT is my new priest. Legend.