First post of the new school year in which Heather sings the praises of clean bathrooms...

I've been back in Moscow for about a month. This means there are no more excuses for updating. I had a week of computer problems (which I blame on stupid Windows software) that appear to be resolved for the moment. I did blow up a phone, a transformer and a surge protector in the process of trying to fix one computer. I am sick--bronchitis--and I'm moving in a week to a bigger unit. The twins are in Cyprus working on biology labs and eating Greek food. Hubby is preparing for a big training meeting in Nizhny 24 hours after we move. Youngest Jarman is an assistant director in the middle school play. Go team Jarman! I have reached a place where I don't spend my time in Moscow wishing I was in America or spend my time in America wishing I was in Moscow. I have made peace with my life. Progress. I do miss saying the Pledge of Alleigance. When I said the Pledge at Girl Scout camp, I became teary. I love my country and I worry about its future. I do miss clean bathrooms. I'm sure it is a woman thing to care about clean public restrooms. I was in the new, upscale Metropolis mall yesterday and the sleek, modern bathrooms with their stainless steel fixtures and stark black wall tiles smelled like an open sewer. There are 45,000 ruble designer coats hanging around the corner and the bathroom isn't as clean as the rest stop between Mountain Home, Idaho and Boise. How does that work? In America, I can go into the Smith's Food in the Avenues and it smells like a flower garden. The prize for the worst bathroom in Moscow, IMHO, is still Novodivechy Convent. They should post a warning in the guide books for all women visitors. In fact, I think most guide books should include bathroom ratings i.e. "The food at the Blue Marlin is spectacular, but you'll have better luck at a sewage flooded bathroom at an Egyptian border crossing than here in the Cinque Terre." The bathroom conundrum hit me Monday morning. I had a bad pot of yogurt for breakfast. I didn't know you could have bad yogurt, but within 10 minutes of eating this yogurt, my insides seized and I knew I was going to have to vomit. I figured as soon as I did, I'd be fine. I had to be fine. I had a 10AM appointment at the US Embassy for a notary and to add extra pages into the hubby's passport. So round one of food poisoning went as expected. I still felt queasy, but I climbed in the car anyway. Imagine morning traffic anywhere in the US. Now multiply it by a factor of 7 and you might have a typical morning commute in Moscow. Except the diesel exhaust and factory fumes are unreal. As the car schlepped down Pyatinskoe Schosse toward the MKAD, it became clear to me that there would be a round 2 for the food poisoning problem. I laid in the back seat, clutching my stomach, wondering how horrified the morning commuters would be if I simply opened the car door and puked all over the road. Knowing the number of alcoholics in Moscow, I'm sure public vomiting is commonplace. Still, I think I might scare the locals if I opened the door to vomit in rush hour traffic. Hubby assured me that it should only take 20 minutes to get to work but OF COURSE HE WAS WRONG. Every minute that passed, my stomach cramps got worse. My body ached, my head hurt. And the stupid car just went along as slow as molasses in February. The traffic fumes made it worse. I don't know how I made it to my husband's office, but I did. Round 2 of the food poisoning saga proceeded as expected, except longer and more comprehensively, and after emptying everything possible out of my system, I dragged myself back down to the car and went to the metro. It was the first time in six months that I found a seat in a metro car during morning rush hour (score 1 point). When I went into McDonald's to order my Coca-Cola (expat folklore has it that if you have stomach bug, the best thing to do is drink a Coca-Cola because it purges your innards ), I remembered all my Russian words (score 1 point) and when I went to the Embassy, it was quiet (score 1 point). I sat for a good long hour, reading, and by noon the worst of the food poisoning saga was over. I was weak, achy and empty, but at least I wasn't curled up on the bathroom floor in the fetal position. This is why knowing where your closest clean bathroom is makes a difference. I could probably make a tidy sum from creating a webpage for women travelers rating and ranking bathrooms across the world. In this respect, bronchitis is a 100 times better than food poisoning.