Wednesday, September 19, 2007
You gotta love the room service they've got here in our hotel. Tuesday after a hard day visiting chemical factories and doing presentations on public art, we retired to our hotel. Soon after, the telephone rang. I figured it was Nastya. We had been having difficulty connecting to the Internet and Nastya had been dealing with the computer guy. I tried to be funny, answering the phone in Russian, "Priviet! Horosho. Da." It wasn't Nastya. "Do you speak English?", I asked. "Girls? Bed?", the person asked. My bed had been made. The room had been cleaned. I didn't know what they were talking about, so I hung up the phone. Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. Outside in the hallway stood several prostitutes. I was being asked to choose one. Somewhere I think there was a misunderstanding.