A transcontinental physiological meltdown


I took the return train from Chuvashia to Moscow last night. My hosts graciously delivered me to my comfortable first class compartment on wagon #9 where we made our farewells with three kisses to the cheeks. I can only describe how I felt by attempting to create a visual image of the crossroads of my physical and emotional states. The evening before, we had a celebratory last dinner at the dacha with quite a few bottles of wine, champagne and vodka (that’s another story for another day). Needless to say, my Saturday morning body was feeling those effects all day. Add to that the sevearl dozen minefields that the local Chuvashian mosquitos left around my ankles. But it doesn’t stop there. I’m sure you may recall that moment when you know you are coming down with a cold, your throat is sore and you can almost feel the cold virus crawling through your blood and invading every nook and cranny of your being. Your immune system slowly losing the battle for control. Then, of course, ladies, you can relate to the moment right before your monthly cycle. Estrogen and progesterone battling it out on the emotional plane and wreaking havoc on your mammary glands as well as other parts of the anatomy. to complete the picutre, imagine a plate full of grilled meat, scallions and lavash washed down with 2 shots of Ukrainian pepper vodka, and you have, what I call, a transcontinental physiological meltdown.

I sunk as deep as I could into the hard wooden bench that, with a 1 inch thick blanket, doubled as my bed for the evening. My windows drenched in droplets of condensation, the outside landscape was unavailable for the Dr. Zhivago experience this time, so I succumbed to my bodies desire for rest and surrendered for the evening. Somewhere in the early hours, the light through the crack in the curtain awoke me, and I began battling the mosquito minefields around my ankles. Through the crack in the bottom of the window, I watched the early morning light as it settled on the birch trees and country homes. Too early on a Sunday morning for any activity. Something about the rhythmic rumbling of the iron wheels upon iron tracks and the gentle back and forth motion reminds me of the present moment, breathing deeply and calmly, my eyes taking in the world outside my cabin. I’ll be in Moscow momentarily and the next step in my adventure will begin.

I’ll be writing this a bit backwards, as I have so many impressions of Chuvashia to share. I just haven’t had a moment to really reflect and record.