Moldova and my triumphant return
LUKASHENKO LIVES - Sorry for the massive wait. I just spent a week behind an amazingly slow dialup connection.
So I made it to Moldova, where I was greeted by my girlfriend Mary:
And her owner, Tatiana. They had hosted me and Steve back during Moldova the first.
After spending the day physically and emotionally recovering from my Transnistrian adventures, it was time to "git krunkd". Thus an outing was delcared: the City Club, a trash club of mind fucking magnitude. Me and Steve had attended said club on our previous jaunt through Chisinau, and we were quite impressed by the complete drunkitude and overblown slaviness. Thus begins the Son of City Club.
Allow me to digress a moment and review with you, dearest readers, a special feature of night clubs in Slav world. Sometime around midnight, after everyone is good and boozed up, there's a show. Not entertainment exactly--more like a freak show. The music is stopped, an MC comes out, and the floor is raided for volunteers. What you are volunteering for isn't stated in advance, but usually it's the kind of thing that renders you unable to mount an election campaign. Why does, "mount an election," sound so dirty? Anyway...
So the floor show started. The skeevy MC (long hair in a ponytail) came out and began the standard search for volunteers. After finding two willing females, he gave them banannas and made them eat in a special way. Then there was another call for volunteers. A little peer pressure and a wee bit of ethanol combined their forces, and I found myself on stage. Tatiana joined me, initially as an interpreter, but she was quickly dragged under the current and became a participant as well.
The entertainment was going to be a contest. A 'kama-sutra' contest. There were 2 pairs, and each pair had 10 seconds to simulate a 'position' that neither pair had done yet. Cake. (For the record: everyone was wearing clothing, and this had nothing to do with sex and everything to with victory. PERVERTS)
This went on for about 20 positions. We weren't letting up, and neither was the other pair. Clearly the contest was getting boring, so the MC ended the whole thing and asked the audience to clap for whichever pair was best. We tied. Then the MC got two more people from the audience, a guy and girl. The girl joined our team and the guy joined the other. Now it was a 3-way kama sutra contest. Each triumverate would make one position, then the audience would vote on the best.
We tied again. Then again, and a third time, and a fourth. So the MC declared a dance contest. What the fuck?
To the tune of the classiest song ever written, "You Can Leave Your Hat On," we, uhm, danced. I don't remember it well, but I think there was some groping and at the end I was definately in my underoos. Everyone else was clothed, including the other team, so I figured we had this fucker in bag.
Once again the audience got to decide, and we clearly had more applause. But the other team complained, so we both became winners or some shit like that. It's communism--everyone is equal, thus everyone is a winner. But we fucking won, and it was fucking worth it. Our prize was a bottle of medicore (by Moldovan standards) champagne, but it went well with our delicious VICTORY.
Unfortunately, I didn't bring my camera. Heartbreak.
We went home, and Mary got all pissed until I explained that a dance contest isn't cheating. So Mary forgave me and I got myself a huge handfull of dog butt.
The next night we got drunk again, but it wasn't as eventful. But I still give a good review:
There was a third night as well. At first there were only going to be two, but the midnight bus I was planning on taking to Bucharest didn't actually exist. Oops! So instead of travelling I got to view Soviet/Post-Soviet family photos! I thought these were super interesting for reasons I can't entirely explain. So I took photo-photos.
Somewhere in this lineup are Tatiana's Mom and Dad. Also featured is our good friend, Karl Marx:
Dad with the cutting edge of Soviet technology, circa a long time ago:
Dad, during his required military service:
HOLY SHIT! YOUNG FUCKING PIONEERS!
Check this shit out:
That's preserves made from a plant called Sea Buckthorn. It's sour as balls, but it's probably really good for you. You can literally taste the healthy. Tatiana gives it 5 stars:
I give it 5 Pukes.
Sadly, I had to get on with my life. It was off to Bucharest for a half day of machine gun sightseeing, and then onto Greece to chill and catch a plane.
I took the train from Chisinau to Bucharest. It was like 16 hours, and 5 of those were spent at the border. When you cross the border, the wheels of the trains have to get swapped. It's a long fucking story, and I wrote about it earlier, so MEH!
Bucharest was an awesome city. Me and Steve definately made a bad call skipping it. Then again, after the shit storm of Brasov can you really blame us?
It's the fake Arch De Triomphe!
And the Press House. Can you find the Hammer and Sickle?
Here's some help:
Charles De Gaulle:
Then I wandered into the former gated neighborhood of the Communist opressors, now ironically full of embassies. Or maybe not ironically. Pretty building!
This is Ceausescu's former residence. It's now some sort of government facility, so pictures aren't allowed.
I swear to God I saw a Peacock on the roof of one of the guard stations. A fucking peacock.
And here's the residence of Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, the leader of Romania from the end of WW2 to when Darling Nikki took power. This one was even more heavily garded than Casa Nick, but...
Yeah. Come and get me, you NATO pussies.
Then I went to the National TV headquarters.
The banner is quite topical, but I'm not going to get into it here. POLITICS SCHMOLITICS.
This is Government Building. That's what it's called.
What secrets does yonder street light hold?
DRAMATIC ORCHESTRA HITS!
Bucharest is called 'little Paris'. I didn't understand why until I saw this, which truly reminded me of Paris:
THAT'S SO GROSS! Then I got sick. Not because of the poop, but because of this:
LOOK AT THE TRAFFIC.
The last stop was the awesome Palace of Parliment, also known as the best thing ever. It's the second largest building in the world after The Pentagon, and Ceausescu wrecked like half of Bucharest to build it or something. Unfortunately I had a train to catch, so I only got to see it as my cab zoomed by. I really fucked up--I should have gone here first. This picture was taken from over a kilometer away. That's half a mile.
That building is huge, I swear. It's almost as big as MY DICK.
Then it was off to the train station, where I spent another 24 hours on trains (Bucharest->Sofia->Thessaloniki->Athens, for the record). In Athens I spent one night at a meathead hostel, and then met up with Steve's hosts from his days in Athens--Harrie and Anastasia. Much fun wuz had. I didn't do anything tourist in Athens and I didn't take any pictures. Except these two. Welcome to residential Athens:
Sure, it looks like LA. But it's much more awesome than LA. LA sucks. You heard it here first.
Then it was to the airport for a double flight: Athens->London->Newark. And in a total stupor, me and my Y chromosome donor took the best picture EV0R!
How come whenever you come home the first thing you have to see is an airport?
There's still a little more to come. But don't expect to see anything here until April 6th or so.