This is post #5 in a series of edited versions of my blog from 2010/11 when I studied Persian in Tajikistan. The first post is here, and more are to come!
Mid September
Yesterday, our language class went to lunch at the cafeteria of a Russian school nearby. I was warned against eating the meat, but I ignored this advice, as I had gotten cocky being “healthy” for at least four days in a row. The meat was disgusting, so I only ate one bite, but the borscht—delicious! The creamy white sauce stuff they put in the borscht did me in, though. Later, it hit me in the middle of the night. I’m not sure if there’s a worse way to wake up than having someone shouting you awake (Army times), waking up to water dripping on you (camping and/or Army times), or what I would now add: waking up with the shits. It is probably a close third.
My host mom seems to take a strange pleasure in identifying—through her interrogation techniques—what it was that I ate and when that made me sick. She is so assured tha…
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