Roofied

I awoke to droplets splattering on my face amid the unmistakable sounds and smells of a rainshower. My surroundings were alien, but I knew that something was amiss because I was quite definitely outside. It took me more than a minute to recognize that I had wedged myself underneath two bushes and some carefully laid branches and twigs. I was soaking wet, clothing and hair matched in their dampness, and my thought-processes were sluggish. Pulling myself out of this makeshift bunker, I realized that I was in some residential area but I had no idea where. I wasn't even sure if I was still in Moscow or, for that matter, Russia. I stumbled around looking for clues that would tell me where I was and how to get back to my apartment on Tversakaya Street. I was completely lost. This was sometime on Saturday, late morning.

Some of the details of the earlier night began to precipitate out of my soupy mind. On Friday I had gone to an expat bar on the east side called the Boarhouse and had a good time chatting with Russians and foreigners alike. The nightlife in Moscow is considerably later than most American bars, and I looked at my cell phone and was astonished that it was 4:30 am already and the place was still quite full. I was ready to go home, but the subway would not be open until 5:00 am, so I decided to wait it out. I hate trying to negotiate with taxis in Moscow with me not being able to properly pronounce long Russian names to indicate the address. Besides, it would be easy for me to just wait for the Metro to open, just 30 minutes away.

Walking up to the Kurskaya Metro station I noticed a man who was bleeding profusely from his left eye, obviously the victim of a beating. There were a few teenager musicians mulling about, normal looking, who were yelling at the guy but not helping him. I later learned that he was an Armenian ("all are criminals" I was later told) and he had tried to pilfer from their donations cup. Not knowing the background, I tried to help, brought him a napkin and told him to keep pressure on the wound. He quite obviously needed stitches but no one around was thinking of helping him, and the policeman who eventually came plainly pointed the man towards the medical clinic.

At this time, Nikolai the Kazakhstani came into the picture, telling me that the bloody man was a criminal and to leave him be. I reluctantly said okay and Nikolai said, "You're a good man, let us drink a Russian beer." I told him no that I needed to get home, but he insisted and was so excited to meet an American. "We drink Russian beer, to friendship" His English was practically non-existent but I could understand his Russian fairly well. We walked to one of the many convenience stands around the subway terminal (where you point to stuff that you want in the window, but there's only room inside for one, the clerk). He said "We get good Russian beer!" On the way there Nikolai had explained to me that he was in Moscow only to make money for wife and son who were back in Astana, Kazakhstan. I could tell he wanted to impress me with his choice of beer, but it was evident quickly that he did not have money to afford it regularly. But he scanned over the displayed beers with his index finger, all of which unknown to me, and he finally stopped on one that was suitable. The logo was quite familiar to me and I tried in vain to dissuade him from it as he uttered, aloud, "Red Bull -- good Russian beer!"

We talked amiably for awhile in my makeshift Russian, drinking our Red Bull "beers', until I realized that something was going wrong in my system. Nikolai asked me if I was feeling okay and I said yes but I knew that something was amiss. I was completely sober by this time, I had only a few beers that night, the last being several hours ago, and began to realize that I had just been drugged. I had read online about foreigners, usually men, being slipped a sedative and subsequently robbed, but I prided myself on being too aware or observant or street-savvy to have that happen to me. But I could feel the roofie taking effect and I quickly scanned my mental datafile whether I was offered an open drink or not. No, I left the bar over 30 minutes prior and only drunk bottled water before leaving. But wait -- I had looked away, bent over while tying my shoe, that was when Nikolai must have slipped it to me. I did not want him to know that I knew he was trying to rob me, so I quickly excused myself and headed towards the Metro station.

As the mental fog buildt I knew I had to get to a place of safety, a relative term to be sure in Moscow, so I headed towards the subway exit where a large number of people would be mulling about before too long. Only ten minutes or so until the lines would open, perhaps I could thwart robbery or assault by anchoring myself there. That's one of the last of many muddy images I can remember.

I next awoke, between twenty minutes and an hour later, with the police asking me for my dokuments. I make it a practice to never leave the house with my passport, only carrying a photocopy if anything, because that's the worst thing to lose in a different country. They asked me if I had been drinking and I told them that I wasn't drunk but had been drugged. I have no idea what transpired afterwards because they left and Nikolai was there, escorting me to the subway. I surmise now that he had told them that I was his buddy but had too much to drink and that he was helping me home. I was definitely and extremely out of it, the rohypnol was at full peak.

Having a superhuman metabolism is not always a good thing. In college I was often the only one not drunk (or much much less drunk) when the gang would go out on the town. It probably has a lot to do with me being a light-sleeper and with my inability to put on too much weight. But now I am so thankful for it because I don't think there's any way I would have wriggled myself out of this situation. I told Nikolai that I was headed home through the Metro and ran towards the station. Somehow I even had the wits about me to buy two metro tickets from the teller and to go through the turnstiles. Nikolai, of course, followed me. I told him no, you stay here, I will go home. I don't recall what his excuse for coming with me, maybe he said he didn't want me to walk the streets of Moscow drunk, but I was already wise to his plan but I'm not sure that he knew that I was onto him. He seemed irritated that I was still awake and seemingly alert, although I was shutting down rapidly.

I got onto the blue line towards the Tverskaya Station, close to my apartment, five or six metro stops away. I was groggy, could barely stand much less read the cyrillic signs. There was no way I was going to be able to tell when the subway reached my station and each minute that transpired meant another step towards unconsciousness. Stay awake! I told myself as the blur of people and stations flew by. Finally, I saw my opportunity as we made a stop. The train across the room, going the opposite way, was also arriving so I decided to bolt towards it. Mind you, I was moving in slow motion at best, but I quickly jumped out of the car and "ran" towards the other one, barely making it as the doors automatically slammed shut. I looked backwards and saw that Nikolai, thankfully, had been shut out.

Still sure, however, that he was going to try to follow me, I had to make a clean getaway. At the next subway stop (I think) I hopped off and got onto another line entirely and rode somewhere four, five stops away. I don't remember much after that but I did have the good sense to make it into some bushes in a residential area and cover myself up so that no one would see me. I must've slept until the rain awoke me four or five hours later. I made a check of myself: I still had money and ATM card as well as my apartment keys and shoes. No pain in my bottom, no obvious bruises anywhere. All that was missing was my cell phone, which was due to be replaced by Cingular anyway. Whew!

I was still swirling after I awoke, having absolutely no idea where I was. I asked a cop for directions to the nearest Metro station and he courteously pointed it out. I was on the other side of the city, at least ten miles away! I was able to get myself home, finally, and collapsed on my bed on what must have been around noon on Saturday.

When I next awoke a few hours ago, it was 11:30 am Sunday morning. I just got back from eating and I feel pretty good, considering what I went through. Thank god for my superhuman metabolism! Now to go buy a cheap cell phone for the rest of my trip.