It’s hard to remember how we functioned before smartphones; before we had a map, a full phone directory, Google Translate, and all the information available by tapping a question into an internet browser in our pocket.  Well, this story happened before that time. I was supposed to meet my friend Misha that morning.  I don’t remember why we were meeting. It actually wasn’t to find potatoes or other rare summer produce this time.  I also don’t recall why I was going alone or why I was okay with navigating a foreign city with only vague directions.  To fill in my own memory gaps, I’m guessing I had gotten to the point that I felt at home in Izhevsk, Russia, and riding public transportation to get to a destination was a normal, everyday part of life.  Hopping on a bus to meet a friend didn’t sound like a harrowing adventure.  It

I need to preface this post by saying that I have always been a picky eater.   I wasn’t a picky eater in that I wouldn’t try new things or that I didn’t like vegetables.  I actually loved a lot of vegetables that most kids won’t touch.  I could eat an entire artichoke by myself at eight.  But I’m picky about texture, and I’m not a big fan of meat.  (If you’ve followed my blog for several years, you may recall I used to be vegetarian.)  I don’t like mushrooms because they are spongy or rubbery.  I don’t like the mealy feel of fresh tomatoes and watermelon.  Fruit that I usually love, like apples, pears, peaches, grapes, and cherries, is a no-go if the texture is wrong.  Apparently, this is how I was born.  I used to reject baby food until my mom found a rubber-coated spoon I would eat

If you missed the first installment about my trip to Russia, you can find it HERE. Our first flight was from Orlando, Florida, to Miami.  It was a short flight and a small plane that had me blaring music in my headphones, closing my eyes, and gripping the armrests, pretending I was anywhere else.   I was relieved when we landed and had some time on the ground before we boarded our first international flight.  We would first stop in Shannon, Ireland, for a layover, followed by another flight to Moscow.  A couple of days of rest and brief sightseeing were planned in Moscow before catching a 24-hour train ride east to Izhevsk.  Everything was planned and timed with some breathing room and breaks, but the flights needed to go according to schedule.  Our quick flight to Miami was the last leg of the journey that went off without a