To Sing Frogs Chapter 17c

Typical Russian village house. Spring, just coming up from the dirt.

“We were afraid you weren’t coming,” Stass said while I hugged Anya. Amy embraced Stass and we introduced the couple to Dyehdushka Bill. Anya smiled almost coyly, shook his hand, and gave him the two-cheek Russian welcome kisses. Bill and women. I still don’t get it. Oh yeah, “he’s sincere.” How did Anya know he was sincere? He’s old enough to be her grandpa and he’s still got it. Not sincerity either. It. He’s got it.

“Last time you stayed at the Hyundai Hotel, right?” Stass asked as we dragged our luggage through the glass doors of the terminal then bouncing down the steps. There was no reasonable ramp. The several that were provided—perpendicular to the stairs and at the same steep angle—must have been in place as a joke. There wasn’t much chance of them being used for luggage, much less wheel chairs. I guess it will still be a while before they pass a Russians With Disabilities Act. Important travel tip—it’s inconvenient to have a physical or mental challenge in Russia. In fact, people there don’t have “challenges,” they have impossibilities. In former Soviet States either you’re part of the fortunate ones, or you are simply out of luck.

“Yeah,” I responded as I paused to realign my luggage because it had bounced apart going over the four concrete steps. “We stayed at the Hyundai.”

“We have you booked at the Vlad Motor Inn this time. It’s closer to here and they’re set up better to deal with the kids.”

“Sounds great,” I responded without emotion. “Whatever works best.”

The drive toward the hotel showed typical Russia as much as it displayed the signs of early spring. There was little that had completely recovered from what could only be described as a long cold winter. It could only be hoped that a continuation of the warming trend would restore life in its fullness. New infant patches of green were beginning to appear. Life just refuses to be beaten. Young blades of glimmering grass had started to peek through dirt and even occasional random piles of trash so conveniently covered by snow until soon before our arrival. The most obvious clutter might be removed as weather continued to improve though not if it would eventually be covered with growth. Why bother? There was no sense in wasting effort on anything that might eventually fix itself. The signs were evident. Spring was coming. The brown curtain covering the ground could restrain it no longer. Trees were loaded with swollen buds that couldn’t help but explode in the near future. Still, as we arrived it was almost difficult to believe that vibrant life could be extracted—once again—from the dearth.

Link to other sections of To Sing Frogs