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Working with tourists anywhere poses challenges, but this was particularly so in the old Soviet Union, where certain of my charges stood out among the ever-changing crowd of travelers I worked with in those days. There was the distinguished psychiatrist, for example, who I found late one evening, wobbling in front of the statue of Karl Marx that sits near the Kremlin opposite the Bolshoi Theater. More than a little tipsy, the good doctor was offering the seated figure a hit off the half-full bottle of champagne he was carrying back to his hotel. Fortunately, I got to him before the cops did.
As idiosyncratic as these intrepid voyagers were, however, perhaps the most memorable was the woman - I will call her Jane - who spent almost no time with our tour group at all.
Jane made her presence felt early, on the plane flying over from the States. "Oh, I'm so excited," she squeaked, to anyone she could buttonhole, "the Soviet Union is such a progressive country!" Indeed, she managed to buttonhole quite a number of people during the flight, and seemed to be channeling Lincoln Steffens, the American journalist who, upon returning from a visit to the USSR in 1921, is said to have remarked "I've seen the future, and it works."
I've been told I should care about politics, but I don't, and didn't back then, either. Still, with her incessant jabbering – she actually used the word "proletariat" in a sentence – she reminded me of the disheveled, pale-skinned ghouls from my college days, who seemed condemned to forever wander dorm halls with armfuls of hard-left screeds.
Jane shared her excitement with our Intourist guides, too, after clearing passport control and customs in Kiev with the rest of the group. "I can't tell you how happy I am to be here in this worker's paradise," she beamed, as she prepared to get on the bus to the hotel. The guides all showed her little smiles, then looked at me quizzically.
The next morning, after the group's first breakfast, Jane came by the table where the guides and I were finishing our coffee and reviewing the day's schedule for the group.
"Good morning, everyone!" said Jane.
"Good morning," we replied, not quite in unison.
"How are you feeling?" asked Natalie, our lead guide. "Did you sleep well?"
"Very well, thank you. The mattress was very comfortable," replied Jane, adding, "so much better than the ones in the US."
"How can we be of help?" asked Irina, the assistant lead.
"Well,... I didn't want to mention it, it's a little embarrassing." Jane paused, then said, "It's just that I experienced some... intestinal distress this morning."
I was about to mention that a change of country will do that sort of thing to you and that the situation generally corrects itself within a day or so, but Irina spoke first. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "If you like, we can arrange for you to see a doctor. It won't cost anything." Natalie nodded, seconding her colleague's suggestion.
Jane's eyes sparked. "Oh, could you?" she replied. "I've always admired the system of medicine over here. It's far superior to the profit-making system we have back home."
So, while the rest of the group went off to visit a museum that morning, Jane, Natalie, and I drove to a local hospital, where Natalie interpreted for Jane and the doctor on duty while I sat in a chair in the hall, outside the door to the doctor's examining room. Natalie came out a few minutes later, and I could see she was struggling to maintain her composure.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"The doctor diagnosed her as possibly suffering from dysentery," she said. I couldn't tell if she was furious or if she was suppressing a smile.
"That sounds pretty serious," I said.
"It is," said Natalie, "She is to remain in the contagious ward for two weeks."
"No way!" I said. "What about our itinerary? Our tour?"
"She'll miss it, apparently," said Natalie, and added, "The doctor's hands are tied. It's the rule." She was completely composed, now.
"But aren't there medicines…?" I started to ask, but Natalie cut me off.
"Medicine will be administered if she's actually sick," she said. "Right now, she's merely suspected of being sick." A few moments passed.
"Can I talk to her?" I asked. Natalie cracked open the door to the doctor's office, stuck her head in, and conversed briefly with someone inside. Then she closed the door again.
"No," she said, "Jane's already been admitted. We are to go back to the hotel, pack her things, and have them sent here for safekeeping. You might want to call your Embassy and let them know the situation."
"But how's Jane going to get along?" I asked. "She speaks no Russian." Natalie gave a little shrug. Back at our hotel, I took up a collection of paperbacks from the rest of the group, so that Jane would have something to read, and sent them along with her luggage to the hospital.
Two weeks later, the group arrived at the end of its five-city, multi-republic itinerary and was preparing to depart for the States the next morning. I happened to be in the hotel lobby when Jane was delivered to the hotel, in time for dinner.
She was thinner, and paler, and her eyes seemed duller. She smiled a little when she saw me, but volunteered nothing about her experience at the hospital. In fact, she hardly said a word to anyone at all, that night, and remained taciturn during the entire flight home.
Years later, I got to wondering about Irina's original suggestion and the - had it been a smile? - on Natalie's face. Did the Intourist guides want Jane out of their hair for two weeks? Were they using the system' s rules to try to teach Jane some kind of lesson about the system? I guess I'll never know.
One thing is for sure, whenever I think of Jane's hospital experience I am reminded that you should be careful what you ask for in life. The result may not be what you expect.
Throw Back Week 2 - Intersection Variation
My previous topics: Moments of Devastating Beauty, Current Events
My topic this time: What I 'Should' Care About, but Don't
My partner is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tamaraland. Her entry is here.
As idiosyncratic as these intrepid voyagers were, however, perhaps the most memorable was the woman - I will call her Jane - who spent almost no time with our tour group at all.
Jane made her presence felt early, on the plane flying over from the States. "Oh, I'm so excited," she squeaked, to anyone she could buttonhole, "the Soviet Union is such a progressive country!" Indeed, she managed to buttonhole quite a number of people during the flight, and seemed to be channeling Lincoln Steffens, the American journalist who, upon returning from a visit to the USSR in 1921, is said to have remarked "I've seen the future, and it works."
I've been told I should care about politics, but I don't, and didn't back then, either. Still, with her incessant jabbering – she actually used the word "proletariat" in a sentence – she reminded me of the disheveled, pale-skinned ghouls from my college days, who seemed condemned to forever wander dorm halls with armfuls of hard-left screeds.
Jane shared her excitement with our Intourist guides, too, after clearing passport control and customs in Kiev with the rest of the group. "I can't tell you how happy I am to be here in this worker's paradise," she beamed, as she prepared to get on the bus to the hotel. The guides all showed her little smiles, then looked at me quizzically.
The next morning, after the group's first breakfast, Jane came by the table where the guides and I were finishing our coffee and reviewing the day's schedule for the group.
"Good morning, everyone!" said Jane.
"Good morning," we replied, not quite in unison.
"How are you feeling?" asked Natalie, our lead guide. "Did you sleep well?"
"Very well, thank you. The mattress was very comfortable," replied Jane, adding, "so much better than the ones in the US."
"How can we be of help?" asked Irina, the assistant lead.
"Well,... I didn't want to mention it, it's a little embarrassing." Jane paused, then said, "It's just that I experienced some... intestinal distress this morning."
I was about to mention that a change of country will do that sort of thing to you and that the situation generally corrects itself within a day or so, but Irina spoke first. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "If you like, we can arrange for you to see a doctor. It won't cost anything." Natalie nodded, seconding her colleague's suggestion.
Jane's eyes sparked. "Oh, could you?" she replied. "I've always admired the system of medicine over here. It's far superior to the profit-making system we have back home."
So, while the rest of the group went off to visit a museum that morning, Jane, Natalie, and I drove to a local hospital, where Natalie interpreted for Jane and the doctor on duty while I sat in a chair in the hall, outside the door to the doctor's examining room. Natalie came out a few minutes later, and I could see she was struggling to maintain her composure.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"The doctor diagnosed her as possibly suffering from dysentery," she said. I couldn't tell if she was furious or if she was suppressing a smile.
"That sounds pretty serious," I said.
"It is," said Natalie, "She is to remain in the contagious ward for two weeks."
"No way!" I said. "What about our itinerary? Our tour?"
"She'll miss it, apparently," said Natalie, and added, "The doctor's hands are tied. It's the rule." She was completely composed, now.
"But aren't there medicines…?" I started to ask, but Natalie cut me off.
"Medicine will be administered if she's actually sick," she said. "Right now, she's merely suspected of being sick." A few moments passed.
"Can I talk to her?" I asked. Natalie cracked open the door to the doctor's office, stuck her head in, and conversed briefly with someone inside. Then she closed the door again.
"No," she said, "Jane's already been admitted. We are to go back to the hotel, pack her things, and have them sent here for safekeeping. You might want to call your Embassy and let them know the situation."
"But how's Jane going to get along?" I asked. "She speaks no Russian." Natalie gave a little shrug. Back at our hotel, I took up a collection of paperbacks from the rest of the group, so that Jane would have something to read, and sent them along with her luggage to the hospital.
Two weeks later, the group arrived at the end of its five-city, multi-republic itinerary and was preparing to depart for the States the next morning. I happened to be in the hotel lobby when Jane was delivered to the hotel, in time for dinner.
She was thinner, and paler, and her eyes seemed duller. She smiled a little when she saw me, but volunteered nothing about her experience at the hospital. In fact, she hardly said a word to anyone at all, that night, and remained taciturn during the entire flight home.
Years later, I got to wondering about Irina's original suggestion and the - had it been a smile? - on Natalie's face. Did the Intourist guides want Jane out of their hair for two weeks? Were they using the system' s rules to try to teach Jane some kind of lesson about the system? I guess I'll never know.
One thing is for sure, whenever I think of Jane's hospital experience I am reminded that you should be careful what you ask for in life. The result may not be what you expect.
My previous topics: Moments of Devastating Beauty, Current Events
My topic this time: What I 'Should' Care About, but Don't
My partner is
tamaraland. Her entry is here.
