The next time I'm conscious I don't have too long to dwell in my helpless predicament before the early morning tranquility is roughed up by the unmistakable thump of Russian gangsta rap. My saviour has arrived!
Ruslan, looking somewhat less rough than I feel, is quick to restore my faith in my judgement of character by producing my camera and neck pouch! Reunited with my essentials I'm able to focus my energies on being embarrassed and apologetic, spending some time trying to construct and communicate appropriate sentiments with the limited vocab of my pocket Russian language book. While I struggle with that, we congratulate the hosts on the party, thank them and leave, briefly stopping to say hello to various family members in the village on our return to Ruslan's home. Everyone has a good natured laugh at me, including Ruslan's mother as she supplies us with her hangover cure of bread and a bowl of soured yoghurt... it wouldn't have been my first choice of foods, but I'm able to eat it and manage to keep it down despite (or perhaps because) I follow it, at his insistence, with Ruslan's elixir – vodka!
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