sofasurfers

So it’s bedtime, and I’m just performing my ablutions in the bathroom of my host’s Soviet flat in Vladivostok, when first the doorbell goes (I ignore) and then I hear a knock at the bathroom and some Russian babble. I’m only brushing my teeth at this stage, so I unlock the door, and my host’s mother (for she lives here too, along with her teenage son) rushes in, locks the door and sits on the toilet. It’s utterly unclear whether she’s hiding from the person who has just rung the doorbell, or whether she is in fact in need of the toilet. I turn my back and ‘busy myself’ with the pearlies to save her modesty and conceal my smirks. The sound effects quickly reveal that it’s a matter of the latter. I brush harder. Then up she gets, flushes the toilet (though it doesn’t flush properly), and leaves. “Is this normal?” I ask Stasia the next day. “Well, it’s not so normal, but many Russians have to share their bathroom and toilet between a whole family.” And now couchsurfers.