I know it's been a while, so I'm going to break the rest of my summer and my return to Russia into two posts.
I flew out of Sheremetevo airport (missed Snowden again!) on July 25, 2013 on a direct, round-trip flight into JFK, where I was met by angry parents (seriously, the attitude was unnecessary and unappreciated, please don't let it happen again next year). Then we got to sit in traffic, and then I got the fresh lobster dinner I had long awaited (thanks, dad). The month flew by, but I managed to cram a lot of activities into it. I went to Manhattan to see some friends (shout outs to Chris and Lea for hosting, and to Brendan for coming up from DC); to Long Island to see more friends and learn to sail (well...how to come about, anyway), taste wine, and cook an awesome vegetarian meal with more-awesome accompanying cocktails (shout out to Julia and her mom and sister); to read a lot of books; to meet my cousin's beautiful baby girl; to see how my other babies have grown (and started talking? Too soon!); to get my first smartphone (which subsequently ate my life); to eat fresh oysters and clams at the Milford Oyster Fest; to drink PUMPKIN BEER, MY FAVORITE BEVERAGE OF ALL TIME; to buy stuff for normal-people prices; to drive!; to eat...everything; to spend time with family and friends (and be fed by them); to ride my bike to the beach where I sunned and swam; and, perhaps most importantly, to welcome my cousin home from his tour of duty in Afghanistan (shout out to Anthony for protecting us all).
People often asked me what the weirdest part of being home was. The truth is, the weirdest part was that it wasn't weird at all. For the most part, everything was the same. All of the same people are around, the landscape is the same, I95 still sucks from 4pm-8pm, I am still a beach bum, and Whole Foods is still my mecca. I wasn't exactly itching for Moscow in particular, but I did understand that it would be really hard for me to live there again right now. There's not enough going on, and I can't deal with the complete and total lack of comprehensive public transportation. While I did catch the train into Manhattan and up to Milford a few times, that's about the most useful it gets. On August 25, 2013 I went to JFK and missed my already pushed-back flight because some people thought the time I wanted to leave was way too early, but it most certainly was not. After re-booking and chilling in the worst terminal ever (Terminal 1, if you were wondering), I boarded my plane to Moscow, came home, and crashed. Next up: work, which I started the next day.
I flew out of Sheremetevo airport (missed Snowden again!) on July 25, 2013 on a direct, round-trip flight into JFK, where I was met by angry parents (seriously, the attitude was unnecessary and unappreciated, please don't let it happen again next year). Then we got to sit in traffic, and then I got the fresh lobster dinner I had long awaited (thanks, dad). The month flew by, but I managed to cram a lot of activities into it. I went to Manhattan to see some friends (shout outs to Chris and Lea for hosting, and to Brendan for coming up from DC); to Long Island to see more friends and learn to sail (well...how to come about, anyway), taste wine, and cook an awesome vegetarian meal with more-awesome accompanying cocktails (shout out to Julia and her mom and sister); to read a lot of books; to meet my cousin's beautiful baby girl; to see how my other babies have grown (and started talking? Too soon!); to get my first smartphone (which subsequently ate my life); to eat fresh oysters and clams at the Milford Oyster Fest; to drink PUMPKIN BEER, MY FAVORITE BEVERAGE OF ALL TIME; to buy stuff for normal-people prices; to drive!; to eat...everything; to spend time with family and friends (and be fed by them); to ride my bike to the beach where I sunned and swam; and, perhaps most importantly, to welcome my cousin home from his tour of duty in Afghanistan (shout out to Anthony for protecting us all).
People often asked me what the weirdest part of being home was. The truth is, the weirdest part was that it wasn't weird at all. For the most part, everything was the same. All of the same people are around, the landscape is the same, I95 still sucks from 4pm-8pm, I am still a beach bum, and Whole Foods is still my mecca. I wasn't exactly itching for Moscow in particular, but I did understand that it would be really hard for me to live there again right now. There's not enough going on, and I can't deal with the complete and total lack of comprehensive public transportation. While I did catch the train into Manhattan and up to Milford a few times, that's about the most useful it gets. On August 25, 2013 I went to JFK and missed my already pushed-back flight because some people thought the time I wanted to leave was way too early, but it most certainly was not. After re-booking and chilling in the worst terminal ever (Terminal 1, if you were wondering), I boarded my plane to Moscow, came home, and crashed. Next up: work, which I started the next day.
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