Sunday morning was devoted to food shopping for the Italian cooking-class day.
I had the chance to practice a lot my Russian with Marshrutka drivers, sellers, passers-by, beggars, drunk people.
A police officer in plain clothes - after checking my documents - praised my good Russian. A small girl selling juices did the same with a very good English. Also a miller commended my use of his difficult and fascinating language.
Unfortunately, on the Marshrutka, a drunk guy thought a stranger was worth to starting some kind of chat. After a while his speech became at once more complicated and woolly, plus I had no intention to open any kind of debate with someone whose breath is vodka-branded. As result, he dismissed me saying my Russian is "ocegn plocha", very bad.
The policeman, the young seller, the miller: when it comes to sincerity, they all worth less than a drunk guy...
No comments:
Post a Comment