bathroom v washroom v restroom v wc love

bathroom v washroom v restroom v wc

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  • Cheboksary is the capital of Chuvashia and indeed a very pleasant town on the Volga to boot. But in terms of Finno-Ugric you're probably thinking of nearby Yoshkar-Ola, capital of the Republic of Mari El. I was there for 6 weeks as a volunteer English teacher. It does have a daily direct train to Moscow but when I was heading back I decided a have day out in Cheboksary en route.

    April 10, 2009

  • Brings back painful memories. When I lived in Leningrad in the mid-80s, I made a mental list of all the possible public facilities – туалеты (tualety) – (in "foreigner" hotels, certain better restaurants, academic libraries) throughout the center of the city that were acceptable in an emergency. Train station washrooms, however, did not make the list. And I of course I never went anywhere without toilet paper.

    Cheboksary? Isn't that the capital of some Finno-Ugric-language-speaking "autonomous republic" (Mari? Komi? – can't remember). What was the bilby doing there?

    April 9, 2009

  • I'm somewhat gladdened that rolig, in his diplomacy, refrained from including the Russian equivalent.

    For I can recount that I did once arrive in Moscow on the morning train from Cheboksary. Not having a program in mind to fill the dawn to evening hours, I partook of the available facilities at Kazansky station. Upon entering the 'washroom' (and even the 10 ruble fee does not disperse the inverted commas, me hearties) I was entreated to this: a Dante-esque scene from one of the innumerable levels of the Inferno, where excrement wandered tersely along the floor. A line of businessman, bemused travellers and anonymouties stood clutching their bowels and briefcases, wary that their treasures remain above the agressive brown tide. A door popped open. I hurried for The Business, aware that only a tenner didn't buy a lot of excremental leeway in the capital. As a wan sun dawned over the desert of relief I was reawakened by the cane of Mother Courage herself - a fearsomeness of mop-flourshing glory - rapping at the door of each cubicle as she declared: 'We clean! The station cleans. So come on shitters, SHIT!'

    I was glad to escape alive ...

    April 9, 2009