This morning I boarded the train to Vladimir. "O'le Vladdy" as I like to call it. As I went to put my bag down underneath this huge pile of bags I heard a voice say "you can put your bag on top." "English? How did he know I don't know Russian?" I thought to myself.
Turns out, they are a couple from South Africa traveling across the railway like I did. In fact, we had the same guide book. We compared notes. They had a LOT to say about Trump. And Putin. And the South African government. They are both pilots and they love to travel. The wife is a meticulous planner and the husband hates having a plan, he says if everything is planned and you have a perfect trip, then you don't have any fun stories and no one wants to hear about how nice the plane ride was. Touché man, I love it. They do long camping trips in Africa every other year and they convinced me that South Africa is so beautiful, I must visit there next. They were so great.
Once I arrived in Vladimir, I found my shady hostel. It actually seemed nice at first. The front desk woman was very friendly. Too friendly in my opinion. It was eerie. Long story short, as I don't want to post too much about this on my blog, I'm pretty sure the "hostel" was actually a brothel. I'm damn well sure actually. It was awful. Awful.
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