They smelled like vodka. Not like sharp, fresh vodka mixed with Cranberry. Yum. They smelled like vodka after it had been sitting with stomach acids for about 12 hours, creeping warmly out of their mouths like some kind of inebriating exhaust. I didn't speak the language, which was a southern Ukrainian dialect. I got one name, Bogdon. He showed me around his living space, which was part of the small coal plant powering the local town. I offered him a cigar that I brought from the United States. We sat and shared a smoke, waving sign language that only we understood, as it was made up on the spot. It was here that I first learned the true benefits of a language barrier.