![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Two weeks...
Jul. 17th, 2006 10:14 amIt feels as if it's been longer, but the present campaign has been under way for two weeks, so we're still short of half way through. Yesterday was my first opportunity to go into town, which was a good thing, as I've been wearing this horrible pair of mocassins just about everywhere, to the point where I've started to wear my "formal" black shoes as well.
The bus was about a quarter full when we left Area 95, which turned out to be a good thing, because on the trip back, the sun was baking the vehicle so hard that, despite the fact we drew curtains across the window with the air conditioner turned up high, it was still quite hot inside, but I'm getting a little ahead of myself.
A few kilometers down the road, the bus came across a lone camel meandering along the road. The bus stopped to allow everyone to gawk at the animal, which seemed to have lost all of its fur except for a small patch at what I would call the "small" of its back, behind its hump.
Sensing our presence, the animal loped off to the side of the road, assuming a position where its rear end was squarely facing the bus and its head was craned back toward us as it worked its mouth, giving the impression that the animal was mooning us with crossed eyes and extended tongue.
Of course, by the time we had gotten our cameras unlimbered, the scene had assumed a more pastoral appearance, as shown in the following photo.
Most of the people aboard the bus were from the French team, and upon stopping at our usual spot in town, they went off to grab a bite to eat. Me, I went into the market, intent on scoping out the shoesellers. About 20 minutes later, I was 750 rubles lighter (a bit less than $30) and the proud owner of a pair of athletic shoes and a pair of sandals.
I rejoined the French, who were eating shashlyk and huge spiced chicken wings in the semi shade, and washing the food down with the local brew. I ordered a portion and had two beers, in an attempt to keep myself hydrated. After some more minutes of conversation, the group moved on, to the market.
By this time, one of our vans had arrived in town with some more folks, and we all ended up going into the market together. Everyone, it seemed had an agenda (just as I had with my shoes). Eventually, the to-dos were exhausted, and I wandered about the market a bit, avoiding the produce sellers under the main shelter, and buying a couple of dried fish (вобла) for later.
Outside the sheltered area, commerce was under way in a major fashion. Particularly busy was this melon truck, where a young boy in orange shorts was kept busy fetching the goods from inside the truck.
A couple of campaigns ago, I was innocently wandering too near the aforementioned area where produce sellers lay out their wares under a high, corrugated metal shelter structure. This gent walks up to me with his hand extended and says, "My name is Igor. Hello."
Having developed a fine native sense of how people react to certain stimuli, which in this case consists in accepting this near-universal gesture of friendship by grasping his hand with yours, Igor's goal is to then take your hand - dragging along whatever part of the rest of you that chooses to come along - over to where he sells nuts and dried fruits and whatnot. To say he an aggressive salesman is something of an understatement. He will try to sell you every ware that is on the table, describing it with such puffery as to make an ad writer of the 1940s blush with embarassment.
Anyway, yesterday, I deliberately stopped by with the intent of buying a couple of handfuls of pistachios, and ended up with a somewhat larger quantity, along with a bag of loose green tea whose major advantage is that the leaves are so large, they don't pass through the holes of my little ceramic tea-brewing thingamajig. At any rate, here's a shot of Igor, standing next to his product line; I was hoping he would smile for the picture, as he has quite an impressive mouth filled with gold teeth!
I'm due into work in just under two hours. I should probably go get some exercise, wearing my new shoes.
Cheers...
The bus was about a quarter full when we left Area 95, which turned out to be a good thing, because on the trip back, the sun was baking the vehicle so hard that, despite the fact we drew curtains across the window with the air conditioner turned up high, it was still quite hot inside, but I'm getting a little ahead of myself.
A few kilometers down the road, the bus came across a lone camel meandering along the road. The bus stopped to allow everyone to gawk at the animal, which seemed to have lost all of its fur except for a small patch at what I would call the "small" of its back, behind its hump.
Sensing our presence, the animal loped off to the side of the road, assuming a position where its rear end was squarely facing the bus and its head was craned back toward us as it worked its mouth, giving the impression that the animal was mooning us with crossed eyes and extended tongue.
Of course, by the time we had gotten our cameras unlimbered, the scene had assumed a more pastoral appearance, as shown in the following photo.
Most of the people aboard the bus were from the French team, and upon stopping at our usual spot in town, they went off to grab a bite to eat. Me, I went into the market, intent on scoping out the shoesellers. About 20 minutes later, I was 750 rubles lighter (a bit less than $30) and the proud owner of a pair of athletic shoes and a pair of sandals.
I rejoined the French, who were eating shashlyk and huge spiced chicken wings in the semi shade, and washing the food down with the local brew. I ordered a portion and had two beers, in an attempt to keep myself hydrated. After some more minutes of conversation, the group moved on, to the market.
By this time, one of our vans had arrived in town with some more folks, and we all ended up going into the market together. Everyone, it seemed had an agenda (just as I had with my shoes). Eventually, the to-dos were exhausted, and I wandered about the market a bit, avoiding the produce sellers under the main shelter, and buying a couple of dried fish (вобла) for later.
Outside the sheltered area, commerce was under way in a major fashion. Particularly busy was this melon truck, where a young boy in orange shorts was kept busy fetching the goods from inside the truck.
A couple of campaigns ago, I was innocently wandering too near the aforementioned area where produce sellers lay out their wares under a high, corrugated metal shelter structure. This gent walks up to me with his hand extended and says, "My name is Igor. Hello."
Having developed a fine native sense of how people react to certain stimuli, which in this case consists in accepting this near-universal gesture of friendship by grasping his hand with yours, Igor's goal is to then take your hand - dragging along whatever part of the rest of you that chooses to come along - over to where he sells nuts and dried fruits and whatnot. To say he an aggressive salesman is something of an understatement. He will try to sell you every ware that is on the table, describing it with such puffery as to make an ad writer of the 1940s blush with embarassment.
Anyway, yesterday, I deliberately stopped by with the intent of buying a couple of handfuls of pistachios, and ended up with a somewhat larger quantity, along with a bag of loose green tea whose major advantage is that the leaves are so large, they don't pass through the holes of my little ceramic tea-brewing thingamajig. At any rate, here's a shot of Igor, standing next to his product line; I was hoping he would smile for the picture, as he has quite an impressive mouth filled with gold teeth!
I'm due into work in just under two hours. I should probably go get some exercise, wearing my new shoes.
Cheers...
