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Stealing moments to myself...
Oct. 15th, 2008 06:44 amAs I mentioned in my previous post, yesterday morning, while the rest of the group was reviewing the text of translations that had been written by the Russian side, I stole out into the streets, intent on walking to the river and back. It's not as if this was some kind of odyssey, as the river is only a few blocks away.
The fog had yet to burn off the river, but the bank was already populated by a number of local men and their fishing rods.
Nobody seemed to be catching anything, but still, the activity was observable. Everyone seemed to have their own personal approach to the art of angling.
On the way home, I detoured to walk through the mall that runs down the middle for much of Karl Marx Street near the hotel, attracted by the bright colors of some of the items being offered for sale by street vendors.
A few yards down from this table, an artist in oils was offering his wares:
By the way, I find it ironic that many of the stores along the sides of Karl Marx Street house the poshest shops I've seen in a while (and few places to eat - none cheaply).
We worked until 7 pm again last night, as there is clearly too much work and not enough time. This is turning out to be a pretty good session for getting terminology down, as I've got the subject matter experts from both sides in the room at the same time, talking shop. We start again at 8:30 am this morning, and I suspect we're going to keep going until they literally throw us out at 7 pm tonight.
Dinner last night was at a place about a half dozen blocks away, called Бирхаус (Beer House). The place lives up to its name, offering a pretty wide selection of brew. I went there with our DTRA monitor, our safety guy, and a systems consultant, and had a pretty nice meal, including an appetizer platter that I ordered where none of the components listed in the menu were familiar to me. The contents were, however, appetizing and I appear to have survived the experience.
One thing I wish I had taken a picture of was a contraption I spied on the next table over as we sat down that turned out to be the local version of a "pitcher," a tall transparent tube with a spigot at the bottom, which actually held 3 liters (about 3 quarts) of liquid. We ordered one for our table, with Leffe brune, and it just hit the spot. Leffe, by the way, is a Belgian beer that's been brewed since the late 12th century.
In other news, I'm ruminating on this week's topic for the LJ Idol writing event: I've not had any mistaken identity incidents in my life that are noteworthy in any way, so I may have to either twist the subject into a new shape or, um, prevaricate somewhat. Nothing occurred to me last night while I sweated out the day in the hotel's sauna. With any luck, the Muse will whisper something into my ear soon.
Meanwhile, I need to get ready for a new day.
Cheers...
The fog had yet to burn off the river, but the bank was already populated by a number of local men and their fishing rods.
Nobody seemed to be catching anything, but still, the activity was observable. Everyone seemed to have their own personal approach to the art of angling.
On the way home, I detoured to walk through the mall that runs down the middle for much of Karl Marx Street near the hotel, attracted by the bright colors of some of the items being offered for sale by street vendors.
A few yards down from this table, an artist in oils was offering his wares:
By the way, I find it ironic that many of the stores along the sides of Karl Marx Street house the poshest shops I've seen in a while (and few places to eat - none cheaply).
We worked until 7 pm again last night, as there is clearly too much work and not enough time. This is turning out to be a pretty good session for getting terminology down, as I've got the subject matter experts from both sides in the room at the same time, talking shop. We start again at 8:30 am this morning, and I suspect we're going to keep going until they literally throw us out at 7 pm tonight.
Dinner last night was at a place about a half dozen blocks away, called Бирхаус (Beer House). The place lives up to its name, offering a pretty wide selection of brew. I went there with our DTRA monitor, our safety guy, and a systems consultant, and had a pretty nice meal, including an appetizer platter that I ordered where none of the components listed in the menu were familiar to me. The contents were, however, appetizing and I appear to have survived the experience.
One thing I wish I had taken a picture of was a contraption I spied on the next table over as we sat down that turned out to be the local version of a "pitcher," a tall transparent tube with a spigot at the bottom, which actually held 3 liters (about 3 quarts) of liquid. We ordered one for our table, with Leffe brune, and it just hit the spot. Leffe, by the way, is a Belgian beer that's been brewed since the late 12th century.
In other news, I'm ruminating on this week's topic for the LJ Idol writing event: I've not had any mistaken identity incidents in my life that are noteworthy in any way, so I may have to either twist the subject into a new shape or, um, prevaricate somewhat. Nothing occurred to me last night while I sweated out the day in the hotel's sauna. With any luck, the Muse will whisper something into my ear soon.
Meanwhile, I need to get ready for a new day.
Cheers...
