One of the first places we wanted to visit was the town's only synagogue. Our taxi driver, a Tatar named Zarig, had no clue where it was and drove in circles until he finally stopped to ask directions. Eventually, we found the synagogue, and with it the beginning of our story.
Sasha and Maya had arranged for us to stay in an empty one-room apartment owned
by their friend Tanya. By the distinct aroma of mothballs and the layer of dust
coating the furniture, it appears that nobody had lived here for some time. But
we're not complaining -- it's got two beds and running hot water, which is about
all we really need. Well, almost. The only serious drawback is that we don't have
a phone, our lifeline. This means that we will have to run over to Maya's place--
about a five-minute trip -- in the morning and evening to check our email.