...and some other stuff, too, actually.
Today, we went to the Erotica Museum. It was, as we had expected, rather small and quirky. It's still a working clinic (used to be for venereal diseases, now for prostate research and other things). So we went in, and it was weird, and we all lurked in the doorway. And then we saw the big case of souvenirs you can buy, and knew we were in the right place (on account of the naked ladies). So we paid five rubles, and got - I kid you not - Passports to Potency. Yessirree. And inside? Popup things, which I was not expecting, which we laughed about. And then laughed some more. And then we had to put some booties on our feet, which I guess is common practice in venereal disease clinics? (Just kidding, lots of museums and doctor's offices have that here, because of the brooms - which are a whole nother topic).
Here they are: my fresh and sterile foothats.
When we first went in, I was all "Nuh uh, I am not wearing a shower cap in a museum" and then Charlie explained to me that they were for our feet.
So then we had a slightly embarrassed and hilarious look around. It's awkward to be in the way of someone going to (possibly) get their prostate examined because you're looking at all the phalluses. And I mean lots. It was like being in SuperBad.
In case you don't believe me, look closely at this boat.
This was a personal favourite, very classy:
I call it "The Cutting Board of Love". Or "Carrot Romance". Or "Time Flies When You're About to Be Put In Soup."
So after the tiny and awkward museum, we went for a walk. And a walk, and a walk. Trying to get to the Smolniy Institute. In my head, I was all "I'm thirsty, and hungry, where are we going, and why is it worth it?"
"Oh," I said meekly, "I guess that's why."
Because angels live there, that's why. Or they did, before I bought it. Sorry mum and dad, about the credit card bill for this month! I'll pay you back, ok? Come visit me in my fancy princess palace?
And after wandering in awe and taking lots and lots of pictures, and wandering, we walked and walked and walked some more. And hopped on the metro, and hopped out of the metro (well, they hopped, I sort of staggered in a vertigo-sick way, eff these escalators) and went to Liverpool - a Beatles inspired restaurant. Where they played Creedence Clearwater Revival instead.
And we had the best burgers of our lives. Ok, they weren't. But they were real burgers. With real ketchup. And bacon. And the whole rumour about alcoholism in Russia? Is because it's so hard to get water. Because I was dying of thirst, and if you order water and get a miniscule bottle of water, and then you look at your friend next to you with his beer, and it looks like there's actually a significant amount of liquid in it, you end up ordering one too, to stave off the dehydration. Except I don't know that beer actually helps with that. But it tastes good with a burger. Because burgers are amazing, is the moral of the story, especially with bacon. They taste like home.
And then we came back here and fell down. Actually, got ice cream and water and fell down. And I started reading my last book. For dinner we had (last night too, actually) pasta and sauce. Last night I made the fiercest garlic bread ever to walk the earth. And it actually could have walked, on garlic legs, because it was that fierce. And people were surprised, but I did warn them that there was a lot of garlic.
And last night we ate an entire pie. And tonight we ate an entire cake. Actually, I have one tiny little chocolate hedgehog left. Chris, I took the hedgehog piece for you! For yooou! Want me to save it and bring it back? I'm not sure if I can though, so I'll just eat it maybe. But I'll enjoy it for you!
Moral of the story: we need to get home and reintegrate vegetables into our diet so we can stop eating entire large pastries out of a feeling that something is missing in our lives.