Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.

During collage I made two trips to Russia and while there are enough stories to fill a book, the events that occurred near the end of an eleven week trip stand out far above the rest…

I greatly enjoyed seeing the numerous street musicians as I walked the streets of St. Petersburg and met a you g man with whom I became friends. His n!e was Peter (Pyotr), he played the guitar and sang.

Just a few days before I was scheduled to go back to the U.S. we planned to spend as much time as possible together playing and listening to music. I was at his home – a small apartment where he lived with his parents. His mother taught at the music conservatory and there was a grand piano that filled what was a “dining room”.

Finally it was time to leave – we had to take a long walk to catch the bus to the Metro and then catch a trolley-bus before making a short walk to the dorms where I was staying and all before everything shut down.

We never made it.

While waiting for the trolley bus around 11:30pm the street lights had not yet fully come on and after walking to the median to see if the bus was coming, Peter was hit by a car. The driver never slowed down and kept going.

Ever the gentleman, Peter was escorting me back home to make sure I was safe.

I only heard the sound when he was hit, I didn’t see it. When I got to him, I could feel that he was breathing but at that moment three years of Russian escaped me in a heartbeat.

I had heard some horror stories about Russian medical care and for a moment considered telling the ambulance people that he was British – he spoke very food English with a British accent. In the end I didn’t but was allowed to go with him to the hospital.

There was no on site medical care, just put him on the stretcher and go. Once at the hospital, he was examined but nothing was done until after the family was notified. I was physically shaking, so bad I thought they were going to keep me, I managed to call his home and hand the phone to someone who could explain – his mother didn’t speak English.

Then to call the person in charge of my program… I had absolutely no idea where I was and no way to explain how to get me. Again I handed the phone to someone who could and waited.

In the meantime Peter had been brought back to a “waiting room” until his parents could get there. He was conscious by now and they let me see him. As we all know, head wounds bleed profusely and Peter had a habit of putting his hand behind his head, so when I got to him he had blood on him.

Knowing about the perils of finding a toilet, not to mention paper to clean up with, I traveled with a supply of baby wipes. I used them now to try and clean Peter up a bit but all he wanted to do was sit up and put his arms around me. When the head of the program found me, we both had blood on us. Shortly after that Peter’s parents arrived and I was drug (almost literally) back to the dorm where the head of the program decided I could use a cup of tea.

The tea was some flavoured variety and when I looked at the cup all I could say was “this isn’t funny”. The tea was red…blood red!

The next day my roommate and I tried to find the hospital and to see Peter. We found the hospital but couldn’t figure the directions to find Peter. As we were leaving his mother found us. Peter had three cerebral hematomas.

The next day was our last and was in a frenzy as we prepared to leave but while waiting for the bus to take us to the airport I got a call to his mother and leaned that he was conscious and his blood pressure looked food…all good signs. The trip out of Russia was less stressful.

But some 48 hours later back in the U.S. I learned that the joy had been fleeting…Peter had died.

Even though it was summer, the night had turned cool and Peter had given me a jacket to wear. I tried to return the jacket at the hospital but his father told me to keep it I would need it to get home. The next day I again tried to return it but his mother told me to keep it. That was in 1993, I still have that jacket. I can no longer wear it, but I cannot part with it.