When I woke up, it was dark outside and my phone said it was about . But I didn't know if it was still Wednesday, or if I'd slept through Wednesday night and most of Thursday. The practical question was whether I was about to miss the ballet at the Bolshoi, which was on Thursday at . A call to the front desk and some simple words in English combined with the help of my phrasebook determined that it was still Wednesday, thank God. The thought that I might have slept through my chance to go to the Bolshoi had almost made me cry.
I puttered around my room, changing into pajamas, eating a bowl of oatmeal – slowly, in case it hit my stomach wrong – and drinking lots of water (which tasted fine from the tap). At , the phone rang in my room; Rusina had heard from the taxi driver that I was sick, and was calling to find out what was going on. I told her that after my nap I no longer felt on the verge of death, and that it had been tough but I think now I was well enough to take care of myself, I just need to take things slow. I told her that in the morning I'd go to exchange money and I think as long as I didn't push myself too hard, I'd be all right. I felt relieved that she'd called; at least someone now knew where I was and what was going on.
I watched a little TV before going back to bed. The shows in
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