Did you ever watch that wonderful series ‘I’m Alan Partridge’? For those who didn't, let me fill you in. After the demise of his BBC chat show, Alan is a DJ on Radio Norwich doing the graveyard shift, ‘Up With a Partridge’. He lives in a nearby hotel – the Travel Tavern - and basically wanders about the place, chatting to the staff, making trips to the nearby petrol station and drinking the mini-bar dry. Today, I feel like Alan Partridge….. but without the mini-bar.
Thankfully I now have my onward plane ticket to Kogalym. It was delivered by a super guy who, despite his complete lack of English and my limited, eleven-word, Russian vocabulary, managed to impart all the necessary information with a huge smile. I just wish he didn’t have to leave so quickly or I’d have bought him a beer. I now also have internet access too – doh! you’re writing a blog Gav. Anyway it turned out to be a little less painful to setup than I thought it would be, which is great.
Breakfast on the other hand was painful. In need of shaking off the three hour time difference this morning I opted for the berry juice, coffee, Russian bread and honey. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fussy eater, my mum would never allow fussiness at the dinner table, and on the face of it I like most of the elements in the aforementioned meal. Unfortunately however they were all truly awful. Teeth numbingly, brain rottingly awful. I was just about to give up entirely until lunch, when I spied some fried potatoes. Thankfully these were really quite delicious and so breakfast today was a rather fat and carb loaded plate of butter soaked spuds.
Talking as a died in the wall xenophobe, I think it’s mostly a lack of home comforts and familiarity that makes such experiences seem worse than they actually are. I have a relatively comfy room, a restaurant, a bar and laptop so I’m pretty well off. I guess I’m always just a little surprised at my reaction to these things after so many years travelling and living in hotels. Surely by now I should be able to laugh-off even the most extreme situations. Clearly not! And besides, taking things in your stride is nowhere near as interesting to read.
Right now I feel like Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now. I’m down to my boxer shorts and dog tags, going quietly mad in a hotel room and waiting for the inevitable mission. Let’s hope I don’t lose it completely and smash the place up, or bump into Marlon Brando in the lift. I do have one treat to look forward to mind you - a duty-free copy of Moon with Sam Rockwell. That, dear reader, will be tonight’s entertainment.
Thankfully I now have my onward plane ticket to Kogalym. It was delivered by a super guy who, despite his complete lack of English and my limited, eleven-word, Russian vocabulary, managed to impart all the necessary information with a huge smile. I just wish he didn’t have to leave so quickly or I’d have bought him a beer. I now also have internet access too – doh! you’re writing a blog Gav. Anyway it turned out to be a little less painful to setup than I thought it would be, which is great.
Breakfast on the other hand was painful. In need of shaking off the three hour time difference this morning I opted for the berry juice, coffee, Russian bread and honey. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fussy eater, my mum would never allow fussiness at the dinner table, and on the face of it I like most of the elements in the aforementioned meal. Unfortunately however they were all truly awful. Teeth numbingly, brain rottingly awful. I was just about to give up entirely until lunch, when I spied some fried potatoes. Thankfully these were really quite delicious and so breakfast today was a rather fat and carb loaded plate of butter soaked spuds.
Talking as a died in the wall xenophobe, I think it’s mostly a lack of home comforts and familiarity that makes such experiences seem worse than they actually are. I have a relatively comfy room, a restaurant, a bar and laptop so I’m pretty well off. I guess I’m always just a little surprised at my reaction to these things after so many years travelling and living in hotels. Surely by now I should be able to laugh-off even the most extreme situations. Clearly not! And besides, taking things in your stride is nowhere near as interesting to read.
Right now I feel like Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now. I’m down to my boxer shorts and dog tags, going quietly mad in a hotel room and waiting for the inevitable mission. Let’s hope I don’t lose it completely and smash the place up, or bump into Marlon Brando in the lift. I do have one treat to look forward to mind you - a duty-free copy of Moon with Sam Rockwell. That, dear reader, will be tonight’s entertainment.
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