What did happen in the train

 I recently mentioned in my TW and FB that I woke up in a train, having all my passports wet and lacking all the  cash I had, except egyptian pounds.

So here's the complete story that I still do not understand till the end. And I would be grateful if you give me any fresh ideas so that I do not think that people can be that bad.
November 28th was Pixel's birthday and I came to join partying crowd in Gomel, Belarus. My train from Gomel back to Moscow was to depart Sunday night, and I  almost skipped it - j
ust because we were having great time, 1st amazing snowflakes and a couple of drinks - actually, plain vodka. I had 3 or 4 shots, not a lot. Biggi walked me to the train - and yes, I do admit that I had some alcohol before, but I can't say that I was shit drunk. And I do not smoke anything.
I remember opening my Snob magazine, reading one interview, and then heading to the dining car, where I got some jack and 90% chocolate. Then - also very clear in my memories - am writing something in my notebook, let say, diary. I'm still wearing huge white wings, carnival costume we got for me two days back - and a guy at the next table is asking what is all this for, making fun, regular train conversation. Am just saying - Cheers! - and taking a sip of Jack. Some chocolate after.
Then it's all The Big Mess.
Then I wake up next morning in my car, my sweater is all in chocolate stains, bed is made very neatly, stupid wings are behind the pillow, wallet is in my bag, on the top - all wet, no money (nor russian rubles, neither dollars, nor euros), credit cards are all there.
No headache at all. It reached me only in 4 hours. And no memories. 11 hours off.
The guy I started speaking to last night suddenly appeared carrying all his bags - he was traveling in different car. He saw me checking out my wallet - "I have no cash", - "Huh, if you had your pin codes written on your cards, you wouldn't have them too".
He brought me coffee that I didn't drink and invited for a breakfast. I had no desire to even move. Ladies from the next compartment brought me my ring that I thought I desperately lost. That was the only good thing about this morning.
Seems that I was putting my makeup for 2-3 hours, that I never do.
Than the guy appeared again. He said he made a mistake when he was writing down his number for me. I opened my notebook and found out that on the last page there really were cell phone numbers and a signature. He corrected them and left.
Yesterday I tried to call, none of the 4 worked.

When I came home I realized I have 2 random bruises on my hand and chest.

I have no extra details.

But it's just scary - not knowing what you were doing and why during even 11 hours from 9 p.m. till 8-am. And trust me, in some areas hitch-hiking is definitely safer than trains.

Bloody Russian!

Just ran into AMAZING example of the whole bunch of stupid mistakes in Russian.
The web-site was translated by one hard-working british lady - and I'm sorry mam, I just have to publish it.
http://www.campbeaumont.ru/

Oldi and his Russian reggae

Oldi died in Kaliningrad hospital just tonight.
Sad I never heard him singing live.

He was not about "getting to the top", but about following his own way.

Watch the video, it's his #1 song. Hope he doesn't mind me putting here this number.

"Black on white", K.O.T.

Berlin Wall of the 21st century

You get the view crossing from East Jerusalem from Ramallah. Endless queue of buses, cars and taxis, blond palestinian kids selling coffee, sahleb and music CDs.
From one side of the border: fully equipped israeli tanks and armed soldiers,
From the other - palestinian police without even batons.

Words

He messes up words.
"Painful" and "far" - this is not the strangest example.

On the streets of Jerusalem

Written on the red T-shirt: Security.

I don't believe in guns and in "peaceful arms". If you keep a gun you mean to use it and that you will not hesitate to if there's a case.
Sick governments.

Being Russian girl in Amman.

I was walking back home at 8-30 in the morning.
Amman, Rainbow street. Shining pavements, me slightly hungover. White polka dots skirt, T-shirt and flipflops.
Taxi drivers always feel the urge to attract lonely pedestrians attention with a couple of loud "beeeps". You get used fast.
Almost there.
Suddenly. Fancy BMW, two guys at the front seat. And suddenly I hear, with the heavy accent: "dobroe utro!" - WOW! - and they pull back. "Kak dela?"
- Morning! How do I know you? - something makes me speak English
- This often happens. Somehow. What do you speak? - his English is too arabic.
I realize that it's the first time I'm seeing these faces. And don't want to see any longer.
- Ah, o'k, sorry. Gotta go. Bye.
- Stop! - the driver comes out of BMW. He's wearing classic arabic long dress for men, "dishdasha", - give me your number!
- No, - and I start walking away.
- One night we will have fun together! - his shouts followed me
- Fuck off!
- O'k! - (why would he say that?)

I crossed the road, sat on the bench at the point overlooking all the old Amman and couldn't stop crying.