found in translation

It's boggles the mind.

Last night we went in search of a restaurant near our hotel that a journalist recommended. It should have been easy to find but we somehow missed it and ended up at a Georgian restaurant populated by large families feasting on whole roasted goats and partaking in the loudest version of karaoke I've ever heard. It was done up to look like a hacienda (a Russian one) and from what I could decipher the place was named after (apparently, but this is un-researched) the last Prince of Georgia, Prince Bagration (which sounded distinctly Spanish when the waiter said it, complete with the lisp; bahg-rah-thee-UN!). Sadly, as atmospheric as it was, we were seated out of sight and forgotten. Our dinner failed to arrive in its entirety and when we asked for what was missing, they grudgingly brought it and then told us they were closed, and get out.

Indeed!

So, we have yet to get a dinner venue right, and are having a difficult time figuring out how to get tickets to ride the Metro (which would save us a lot of cab fare), but Muscovites in general, while not overtly friendly or extroverted with us, have been extremely helpful. It's a funny combination. You want to write them off. You want to get fed up because, compared to all of the amazing cities you get to visit in Europe, there are many ways that Moscow doesn't impress and you want to fault it. But you can't.

Case in point:

I was searching for a pharmacy in a nearby shopping centre, the likes of which I never could have dreamed existed in Russia, all glittering with lights and floor upon floor of shops. Plenty of shoes and handbags, plenty of accessory shops, and I knew the chemist was in there somewhere but couldn't find it. I stopped at an information desk and queried the lady behind it about her proficiency in English. She had none, but when I said the word "Apotek" she pointed to the floor below. I made twisting motions with my hands, questioning which direction. I'd already been down there and hadn't seen it.

Suddenly a lady materialised behind me. "Can I help?" she said. She explained where the Apotek was and offered to take me there, which I declined, but thanked her profusely.

Inside the pharmacy, I stood in front of a display trying to decipher which types of plasters would best help the blisters on my heels. A man in a lab coat came and stood beside me, speaking in Russian. He also had no English. We laughed as I began listing off languages.

"English?"
He shook his head.
"Deutsch?"
He smiled and shook his head.
"Italiano?"
"Niet," he laughed. And then came a female voice from behind me.
"Si, un po." Another chemist in a lab coat was behind me, overhearing this exchange.

Suddenly I was speaking to her in Italian, her begging me to slow down, him pulling items off the shelf, and another young lady getting involved as well, pulling the product in question out of her handbag, pointing to a plaster already on her foot, and handing me one of hers, insisting that I take it. I let her keep hers and bought my own.

This all followed with the now customary stream of unintelligible language from the cashier who inevitably smiles when I can't understand her, and then either turns the monitor so I can see the price or writes it on a note pad for me to see. Of course, when it comes to the point when she might want to ask me if I have any smaller Ruble notes, she gives up and empties her drawer to make change for me without a fuss.

Now, all I have to do is ask a local to take me for a walk so I can finally figure out where to have a nice NORMAL dinner that doesn't come packaged with screaming Russian karaoke, forgetful waiters, empty dining rooms, or indigestion.