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We landed in Nakhodka and expected a train to take us to Irkutsk.
Intourist said "No, you are taking a plane".
My mother said "It was supposed to be a train."
Intourist said "It is a plane and can NOT be changed to a train."
So we flew to Irkutsk from Nakhodka on Aeroflot.
We were all quite tired when we went to dinner the first night in the USSR. They sat us at a table with a Japanese couple. Seating unrelated parties at the same table was common there.
JB reached for the water and took a swig, choked and spit it out. She had unknowingly grabbed the Japanese man's vodka.
To make it better the waitress went in search of water for her and came back with bottled mineral water. That was nearly as bad as the vodka to an over-tired American 6 year old.
The reason you go to Irkutsk is to go to Lake Baikal, so that is where this picture was taken.
Nope the redhead is not our mother. She's the Intourist "guide" assigned to go with us everywhere we went in Irkutsk.
She seemed okay, but I thought it was odd. You can see in the picture that JB liked her.
I wonder what tagging along with us was like as a job. Well she only had to do it for two days, then we flew off on Aeroflot to Moscow.
I liked Aeroflot. They served me coffee. My mother said it wasn't real coffee. It seemed alright to me though, I hadn't had much coffee before, just a sip here or there. They gave me my own cup of it!
Aeroflot was a bit 'ricketier' feeling of a plane than I was used to. I could tell my mother was nervous.
In Moscow, I thought Intourist would assign another guide, but they didn't. Maybe the one in Irkutsk had reported that we weren't spies. Or maybe Moscow and Leningrad had enough other watchers around keeping an eye on things, or perhaps too many foreigners to assign guides to everyone.
They did have elevator operators in elevators that were push button kind. I thought about what it would be like spending all day riding up and down in the elevator pushing buttons.
I liked the idea of pushing buttons a lot. In fact I did grow up to push buttons for a living, on my keyboard.
Intourist said "No, you are taking a plane".
My mother said "It was supposed to be a train."
Intourist said "It is a plane and can NOT be changed to a train."
So we flew to Irkutsk from Nakhodka on Aeroflot.
We were all quite tired when we went to dinner the first night in the USSR. They sat us at a table with a Japanese couple. Seating unrelated parties at the same table was common there.
JB reached for the water and took a swig, choked and spit it out. She had unknowingly grabbed the Japanese man's vodka.
To make it better the waitress went in search of water for her and came back with bottled mineral water. That was nearly as bad as the vodka to an over-tired American 6 year old.
The reason you go to Irkutsk is to go to Lake Baikal, so that is where this picture was taken.
Nope the redhead is not our mother. She's the Intourist "guide" assigned to go with us everywhere we went in Irkutsk.
She seemed okay, but I thought it was odd. You can see in the picture that JB liked her.
I wonder what tagging along with us was like as a job. Well she only had to do it for two days, then we flew off on Aeroflot to Moscow.
I liked Aeroflot. They served me coffee. My mother said it wasn't real coffee. It seemed alright to me though, I hadn't had much coffee before, just a sip here or there. They gave me my own cup of it!
Aeroflot was a bit 'ricketier' feeling of a plane than I was used to. I could tell my mother was nervous.
In Moscow, I thought Intourist would assign another guide, but they didn't. Maybe the one in Irkutsk had reported that we weren't spies. Or maybe Moscow and Leningrad had enough other watchers around keeping an eye on things, or perhaps too many foreigners to assign guides to everyone.
They did have elevator operators in elevators that were push button kind. I thought about what it would be like spending all day riding up and down in the elevator pushing buttons.
I liked the idea of pushing buttons a lot. In fact I did grow up to push buttons for a living, on my keyboard.
