The River of Dreams

One last post before taking a three day train to Krasnoyarsk. And don't worry, it's a good one.

"Frances, two years ago I saw you and Valerie coming to this river. I didn't know what you would look like, but seeing you now I know."

So spoke Lyuda, girlfriend of Pavel, friend of Alex, celebrating her birthday on the banks of the Oka river outside of Chekhov, outside of Moscow. We had been there all afternoon swimming, eating potatoes, and attempting to decline the vodka everyone was insisting we try.

"I have a gift. I know you don't believe me, but I can see the future."

You can imagine how interested I was, both in what she had to say and in how much of that Vodka she had to drink already.

"I am extremely worried about Valerie. She should not be dancing with that guy. I see bad things happening."

Half an hour later, after much serious discussion in Russian about how to make sure Valerie stayed safe, we agreed that I should go speak with her. Valerie promised to stop dancing, and Lyuda was almost in tears she was so happy.

"Frances, I didn't want to say it earlier, but I saw death. Promise me you won't go swimming."

We had been in the river once earlier duing the day, and there had been much talk about how much fun night swimming was. Needless to say, we didn't do it. Besides, it was far more comfortable staying at Alex's in a bed than on the banks of the river of death in the back of a van.

Only now I can't say I stayed in a van down by the river. These are the sacrifices a traveler must make.

To Krasnoyarsk and beyond!