Working on ...

As a matter of civility I will not complain on this blog about work. I will not tell you about the micromanaging work style of the supervisors. I will not tell you that it took two full days to make one insignificant handout. I will not tell you that I sort of lost my patience today. That would be awful (and very un-Thompson of me.)

I will show you, however, the best part of my day. I brought my camera so I could collect and share a few snippets from my usual walk to work. As you can see, it is beautiful.

The mini railroad I cross.

The lake and mini train station I pass.

The mini "auto city" I meander through.

I dreamed of this when I was a kid.

Of course most of the pictures show my favorite part.

The stream and ancient burial ground (well, at least it looks like one.)

My office desk.

Okay. So this last one is a bit boring, but I thought you might like to see what my "office" looks like. Empty cubicle. I am starting to populate the brown 'wall' with environmental bulletins I am creating. Simple and clean. Not bad.







Looking back at these pictures I wonder, "How could I ever have a bad day?"

Sticks and Stones

Saturday I was walking in the park with two English club friends. We were just coming out of the woods when we heard a boy crying. We found him laying on the ground with an arm that was now in two pieces. We talked with him to help calm him down and told him encouraging stories like, "I've broken my arm twice," and "after I broke my elbow it was good as new in no time. In fact it is better now that before."

The boy (Yefim, 13 yrs old) had been riding his bike with two buddies down a hill when he lost control. You could tell he was in a bit of shock because he kept breaking down into tears. Not because of pain in his arm, but because he just got a new bike and he was scared about what his parents would say. We constantly had to keep reminding him not to touch his arm. The skin was still intact and he could move his fingers, but you could boldly see that both bones had been broken about 2 inches below his wrist. His forearm and hand were facing two different directions.

Eventually a nurse lady (dressed in a rosy purple uniform) showed up in a bus. She asked him if he was allergic to any medications. He said he didn't know. She said that meant no and proceeded to mix together several liquids in a syringe, pulled down his pants and gave him a shot. Then she picked up his arm (that was kind of freaky) and wrapped it over a splint with some linen. He was very brave and only screamed a little.

Note to self. Don't break arm in Russia.

Competition

There was a man running on my trail this morning. Somehow I got it into my head that it would feel really good to pass him. I ran faster, he ran faster. In the end I ran my last loop one minute faster than usual ... got him though. It was worth every step.

By the way, each loop is 3 kilometers. That was my third loop. You do the math.

The Santa Hotel

I have been to Sakhalin Island five times in the last two years and stayed in four different hotels. This time around it is the Santa Resort Hotel. What does a resort hotel look like? Well, I'll show you.

 

For breakfast I ordered room service the first day I was here.  I nice lady brought me a glass of tomato juice, half a cup of muesli, a cup of warm ultra-pasteurized milk, a cup of chopped fruit (that tasted like onions by the way), two cheese croissants, a mint roll and a quarter cup of raw honey. Yum.

As you can see, the hotel is clean and not too unusual (besides the Japanese toilet that will wash your backside if you push the right button and a center console between the two beds that acts as an all-in-one clock, radio and light switch.) This hotel has won my heart because it is in the forest. The air is clean and all is quiet. Most importantly, right outside my door is the most beautiful running trail you could imagine. I love it here.

A few more pictures from Minnesota

Chrissy's greatest catch

The new '47 Ford. Wow.

                 

 

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America - Land of the Free

After three magical weeks in the USA, I am sitting in the Narita Airport ... layover for the quickest path to Eastern Russia. I have already had a cup of authentic miso soup and six pieces of sushi, but who's counting?

Over the last three weeks I have done what every person on this planet should dream of:  played with my nephew James in Minnesota!