Over the weekend, we once again guilted Saint Sveta into coming with us on our excursion to Parislavl. I'm pretty convinced she gets secretly paid to come with us. It was pretty much the perfect trip, though. We arrived to a male monastery where we were told that all of us were dressed like ho-bags. Including Basil the older Kiwi man. We were instructed to find skirts from what appeared to be a Salvation Army wagon of clothing from 100 years ago and put them on. Basil found a fashionable sarong that matched his shirt and we were set.
Sadly after that whole ordeal, there wasn't a lot to see other than horrible bathroom predicament #1. This bathroom was a raised building a la Slumdog Millionaire with a hole in the floor that you had to hover over and aim really accurately. This was also when we realized that between me and Vic we only had 3 pieces of tissue to last the WHOLE DAY.
Vovchik, our driver also known as Vladimir, then realized that he knew everything about Parislavl (we later discovered that he actually just knows everything in general) and took over as tour guide for the day. Our next stop was a magical blue rock that the pagans worshiped. The logistics of the rock are still unclear but Sveta told us to make a wish and rub it so I'm assuming it's similar to a genie situation. At the same location we stumbled upon ribbon trees (trees that are covered in ribbons that you're actually supposed to wish on and then tie your ribbon on) so we made another wish, realized none of us had anything to tie on the trees, had a photo shoot and were on our way again.
Next we went to a female monastery which made it pretty clear that no matter who, where, or what you are gender will always play a huge part in the appearance of your home. The male monastery was much like a frat house of monasteries and the female monastery was like going to a museum. The buildings were beautiful and the church was having beautiful frescos painted on it. Vlad came running up to us with more enthusiasm than I've ever seen and insisted that we go see something amazing. He took us to the koi pond in the entry way and looked into it like a little kid who loved the fishies. That was when I knew we would be best friends.
On our way out we spotted the Russian ghost hunters van in front of the monastery so of course we had another photo shoot.
Then we had a ridiculously cheap and ridiculously delicious lunch speckled with creepers taking our pictures from afar. Nothing says welcome to our town like a good stalker.
We headed out to the train museum where Basil turned into a kid in a candy store. To get there we had to drive to the middle of the wilderness and then get picked up in what looked like an old army truck. We rode sideways on the bed of the truck and had to hold on for our lives so we wouldn't bounce out to our deaths. The place looked like a graveyard for headless statues and old train parts but in the coolest possible way. To top it all off, there was an old mining wagon (I have no idea what it's really called. It's one of those things that has a flat bed and you crank up and down to move along the train tracks) that you could crank around a 2km track. We (by we I mean mostly Sveta who then got the rest of us as excited about it as she was) were all about it, but when we got there the line was 45 minutes long and in the 90 degree sun that was a little too much for any of us to handle so we decided to move on to see Peter the Great's museum with one of the original ships from his fleet. Naturally, this museum was scattered through a park filled with ridiculous things.
Walking up the death stairs to the hill, there was a majestic statue of Pete and then a bunch of street vendors selling frog figurines. Obvious connections there. Next there was a tiny museum immediately followed by a group of renaissance people with costumes you could pay to dress up in and have photo shoots throughout the park. Right after that was a clearing filled with missiles that you could climb which several members of our group decided to do as though we were a group of American orangutans. Another time when I sure Sveta was reevaluating her life choices.
We finally got to the actual museum which was filled with boating gear and old clothes they would have worn. The best part was that there was no barrier around the clothes so I could get up closeto see how they were made. My inner costumer let its geek flag fly.
Before we embarked on the hour and a half red home, we figured we should use the bathroom. I have never made a more idiotic decision in all of my life. We got to the port-o-potties and realized that between us we only had one tissue remaining. Then we looked in te bathrooms. There were three port-o-potties and two outhouses similar to those in the monestary. It looked like a war took place in each one. A dysentery war. And no one won. And then they all died. And then they all exploded. How one can create a pile that large and vast BEHIND the toilet hole requires a level of strength, coordination, and expertise that I can't even fathom. But at that point the need to pee outweighed all else. There was no turning back. I held my breath and went for it. What I didn't realize was that I took the last piece of tissue so by the time Vic went in we had to combine everything else we had as a creative tissue for her made of postage stamp sized bus tickets, receipts, and plastic wrap.
Only after this experience did we see the dense forest behind us that would have been a much cleaner and less traumatic option.
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