Glasnost on the Dance Floor

Gah, I have a bit of a problem. As I get to know people, I want to comment on them, their nuances, our interactions. This is not anonymous, though, and if anyone ever stumbled on it, they'd know who they were. What do I do, then? Do I tell it like it is? Do I edit? Not sure.

The reason I'm now struggling with this is because we went to a club last night, and there's nothing more eye-opening than seeing people with a few beers inside them. As I've noted before, the women here really do get dressed up to go out – only they tend to do it a little like 1980's 'working girls' – think a bling'd up Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman'. We took a taxi to this 'Sports Bar' around eleven, after eating in the hotel. Dex decided to skip it and went to bed, and I was very close to doing the same until a phone call from Ben alerted me to a waiting cab.

They're very friendly in a 'speak when spoken to' fashion, but it's such hard work. This is no reflection on them, since I'm in their country yet possess no language skills at all. Well, that's not entirely true: When Dex turned up at the airport he had an A4 page with some handy phrases on it. (Chut Chut peeyanee means 'P1ssed!', apparently. See? Handy.) I produced this at the club, and Neil immediately borrowed it and turned to the two girls next to him to try some phrases out. The man has no shame. Ben and Ruskin spent the evening talking to two other girls. Frankly, I'm not sure how interesting the conversation was, but then again, I have a feeling they weren't in it for the intellectual stimulation. We left them at the club at 4:30am, and they were still spading away. It's currently 1pm the next day, and so far they haven't been seen this morning...Ruskin's an Aussie guy in one of the other groups. He used to be a guide but works in real estate in a Japanese ski resort now. He stitched me up by introducing me to a Russian girl then leaving me to it. Again, nice girl, but the conversation was a travel. She did, at one point, ask me if I was married, and if I wanted children. She also thought I was twenty-five (it wasn't that dark in there!). She also told me I made her 'laugh very much'. The only thing I found slightly disconcerting was that she sounded ever-so-very-slightly like Borat ('I come from Kamchatkaski. It is niiice. I liiike very much to come to UK.'...

...I made my excuses and slipped back to the dance floor, where T-900 was throwing some of the campest shapes I've ever seen. 'T-900', or 'Terminator' is the nickname I've bestowed on one of the Austrian guys. He's a big bloke – about six foot four – and obviously spends a lot of time down the gym. The thing is, he looks faintly ridiculous, as he has floppy hair, and is very much a product of lifting lots of weights. That is, his upper body is pumped up to a level of parody, yet his lower body is tiny. He could probably have played one of the bad guys in a 'Die Hard' movie. Just looking at him normally makes me chuckle, but seeing him in the middle of the dance floor, hands behind his head, gyrating and air-kissing, was almost too much for me to bear. He was very, very drunk... I should probably mention the 'show', too. When I came back to the dance floor, a topless dancer had appeared on the podium, wearing little more than body glitter and a look of intense concentration. They were around for about half an hour, I suppose. One of the Austrians spent about twenty minutes on his knees in front of the podium, just staring at her – at one point, tucking some cash into her waste-band. Classy guy.

So, we stayed until about four thirty in the morning, and it was still buzzing when we left. At one point, they turned the house music down to a 'slow' number, and the place turned into a bit of a school disco (like, a sixth form, rather than 'management consultants in shorts and tie.), with girls standing around, waiting to be asked to dance. This only lasted one song, though, and the couples were interrupted by the Russian version of Prodigy.

And so we left. The taxis here all have TVs in them! And I don't mean mounted in the back of the front seat for the passengers to watch, either. No, this is fixed to the centre of the dashboard so the driver can watch! I was shocked when I saw this on the way to the club, but even more gobsmacked when we caught a cab home and I realised it was standard. We worry about making phone calls while driving in the UK, and these guys are driving in heavy snow whilst watching Eastenderovski!