One thing I learned while in Russia is not to believe everything that you hear or read somewhere, or at least don't believe what was once true is still true.

There were no lines to get food, there was no one trying to buy my blue jeans for $200 a pair and the women, who are for the most part very attractive, shave their legs. Those are just a few of the "myths" I heard before leaving. There were many more.

I think I got to the van ride to the hotel last week, hopefully I can continue from there on my adventure.

Arriving at the Academenskaya was not that bad of an experience, unless you consider the Russian elevator. It measures about four by four and makes noises that would make even the most elevator-savvy American nervous. As I rode up to my room on the ninth floor or so, I could hear something rattling along the side of the box and other weird noises. When in unfamiliar situations, I try to watch how others react. When the translator looked very calm and unconcerned, I tried to do the same. "Do the elevators always sound like this?" I asked. "Like what?" She replied.

By this time, I had been awake for a very long time. I was ready for a nice hot shower and a long sleep. It was about 7 p.m. by then, I guess. I got into the bathroom and immediately noticed that the toilet had no water in it and a hole in the front. Not wanting to look like a hick, I looked around until I found a black ball on a stick on the side. Since it wouldn't go up and down like I am used to, I tried to push it and then pull it. Pulling it did the trick. I flushed it a few times just to watch it work. There was an entire roll of toilet paper on the wall, too. There goes another myth.

Then I got undressed and started to get in the shower when I noticed there was no shower curtain. The same faucet fed both the bathtub and the sink (it looked like a big old kitchen faucet) and there was a hand-held shower coming off the end. The tub was a cast-iron monstrosity with feet on it. It might even be valuable over here, I don't know. I couldn't find the stopper for the tub or any mechanical means for doing it, so I just sort of hunkered down and did my best to keep the floor dry. I noticed that the tile floor was about an inch below the rest of the house, so I guess everything was alright. Unless, of course you are in the room beneath.

The average temperature in a Russian hotel room (and house, I found out later) is about 76 degrees. The heat comes in via water filled radiators. The bathroom has a pipe on the wall shaped like a "U" that heats it. I found out later that it is a good place to hang your towel and dry it out. With no air circulation at all inside the rooms, I had a hard time getting any rest. I ended up opening a window a little and bracing it with a shoe. I couldn't stand it. The next day when I woke up as the translator was pecking on the door, it was a very comfortable 60 in the room with lots of fresh air.

After I got dressed, she came in to see where I wanted to get breakfast and she started shivering. "It's freezing in here," she said. The Russians are used to average outdoor temperatures near freezing in the early spring, but inside folks get chilly at 60? I never did figure it out. I guess having on a full-length mink coat and a fur hat might make a difference when outside, though.

One of the first things I did was go to breakfast. I got what I call the Russian egg. Fried on one side with the yellow busted and part of the top half still runny, white and all. Along with it I got a cucumber slice, two pieces of ham and a big plate of bread. Coffee or tea were available and I took the coffee, which I found to be uniformly strong in Russia.

There was a great variety of eating options, just like any American city. There was Mexican food, Chinese food, American food and, of course, Russian food. I only know about a few kinds because I could recognize them or I asked. Most of them I just knew by the sign that said, "Pectopah." That means restaurant. I figured if I saw that, they had food. When it is time to pay, I just looked for "Kacca," which means cashier. To find the bathroom, I just put on an inquisitive look and said, "Toilet?" That means the same in Russia as it does here.

While I was there, I got to see the national museum, which is sort of like the Smithsonian. I couldn't read all of the signs, but I already knew what a lot of them said anyway. There were woolly mammoths and stone-age tools, on up through bronze-age implements. I already knew the story of Czar Nicholas and his family, including little Anastasia. But I got to see some of the family toys and stuff that was really neat. Among the items was a Grimm's fairy tale book, a hand-crafted suit of armor for a child and other toys suitable for very rich children. I didn't pay much attention to the girl's toys. The little boy even had a working model of a WWI piece of field artillery.

I visited the largest art gallery in Moscow, which included paintings by famous Russians like Ivanov and others I can't pronounce. I enjoyed looking at the paintings, but noticed a stark contrast from America.

There were no pieces of abstract, surrealist, modern or cubist works. All of the works were in the realist style. There were statues and carvings in wood and marble busts.

I took several pictures. The fee to enter for a Russian was less than a dollar. For an American, the fee was about $10, as best I recall. You also have to pay a fee to use your camera.

They had a coat room in most places and you gave them your coat and they gave you a little tag with a number on it. I hadn't been exposed to such as that before. At some of the restaurants I visited, the wait staff even helped you put your coat on when you were ready to leave. I really wasn't used to that. To get to these places, I utilized a variety of transportation, riding everything but a boat and a snowmobile while I was over there.

The public transportation system is massive and has subways, trolley cars, trams, trains, busses, vans and taxis. Often, people in cars will stop and pick you up and take you somewhere for a fee. They operate unlicensed taxi services. However, don't ride if there is more than one person in the car, in general. The fees are much cheaper than regular taxis.

However, the subway is the best way I found to get around. It isn't as cold as waiting for a bus in the snow on the street and you can ride anywhere for just a few cents. The problem is finding out how to get there. All the signs are in Russian and it is a confusing maze of passages, escalators, stairways, passageways and long open halls. Many places in the Moscow subway were very beautiful, but most were just dark and basement like. Sort of like American subways I have seen, with one difference.

One thing that was definitely different was the lack of graffiti. There were still people begging for money, people playing musical instruments, people selling flowers, people selling dogs and cats and people selling sunflower seeds and fruits and vegetables. You could buy almost anything on the street. At the subway entrance, which can be found by looking for a big "M," there are newsstands, greeting card shops and even drug stores and merchandise shops. The stores there are small but plentiful.

Of course, there were large markets and grocery stores and shopping malls, but most of the commerce appeared to take place on a much smaller scale. On the street you could buy almost anything and many people were drinking beer as they walked along. The Russians do not consider beer alcohol. Beer and other drinks, like colas, were displayed behind glass windows. A merchant was inside behind a very small glass door. You just knocked on the window and asked for whatever you wanted. The merchant then passes it through the tiny window. It is like a drive through without the car.

American products were readily available, things like KFC, McDonalds, Pepsi, CocaCola, Marlboros, Camels and Pall Malls are not uncommon. However, I didn't see so much as one American beer.

I went to the opera in Bashkortostan and saw a Doestoyevsky work, which was very entertaining. During recess, I went upstairs to get a drink and asked for a cold Pepsi. They didn't have any and they had no ice. I found this to be a European thing in general. Even McDonalds serves drinks with no ice in Paris and Moscow.

I visited a Russian Orthodox Church while over there and found it very different from anything I have seen here. I guess it was more like a Catholic Church. There were "icons" of famous saints on little pedestals where people made the sign of the cross and paused to pray. Without fail, there was always someone outside nearby with a picture of Christ, bowed over in the snow begging for change. It would break your heart. It wasn't as if it were any different from Americans begging for change, but it felt different. I haven't ever seen little old ladies with pictures of Jesus begging for change here. Thank God for Social Security, I guess. There were also veterans, disabled people and women with children begging. Being from here, I am not exposed to that very much, so it affects me. Even when I go to cities in America, I feel sorry for people on the street, while city people just walk around them.

I don't think I am drawing a very good picture of what it is like in Russia, but I am making an attempt. It is hard to put into words all of the sights and smells and sounds of a foreign country. I suppose the best thing to do is try to imagine being in a big city with the smells of all the street vendors selling food (I even saw hotdogs), the press of people and the look of a sea of fur hats moving in unison on a city sidewalk into the distance.

I could have been in Minneapolis, from the look of things most of the time - with one difference. In one place I visited, Bashkortostan, the snow was more than six feet deep. Can you imagine if that happened here?

The snow was loaded on trucks and hauled away from the streets and major sidewalks, but side streets were made passable and people just walked on top of the snow on paths that became ruts as the winter wore on. You could tell where the paths were because the snow was dirty. Once I decided to step off the path to let someone go by and learned a valuable lesson: When the snow is six feet deep, don't step off the path. My leg buried up about three-quarters of the way and I almost toppled over. That would have been fun. I managed to catch my balance before I did take a snow swim, but not before I got snow in my sock.

Having snow in your sock in Russia is not a good thing.

I tried to act like it didn't happen, just like falling on the ice here. It didn't work and my translator laughed at me. "Stay on the path," she said with a giggle. "Or we might lose you."

Good advice, if you asked me. Of course, one day there was a heat wave and the temperature climbed to almost 36 degrees. Then the real problem started. The snow started melting and sliding off of buildings. I was on the sidewalk, which had been cleared of snow, and heard a noise behind me. The sound, like "shhhhhhh......shhhhhh," went on for a few seconds and then silence. I turned around and saw a large mound of snow and several blocks of ice sliding off a building roof. It hit the ground and scattered, making a noise like you wouldn't believe. I also learned a lesson there: Don't stand near buildings when snow melts. There were chunks of ice in the pile the size of a car seat.

I was about eight feet from the place where it fell. I saw my obituary headline: Editor killed by falling ice in Bashkortostan. You know, it may have been my one chance at fame. I bet the AP and everyone would want a story like that. I wouldn't mind reading it, but I wouldn't want to be in it. Good thing I never wanted to be famous.

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