Adventures in...America?

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.

End of an Era

Well, the day has finally come.  My partner in crime/best roommate in the whole entire world has moved out and is currently sitting in Sheremetevo waiting for his flight to take off.  The new guy doesn't move in for another couple of weeks, so I'll try not to just mope around the apartment until then.

 After spending the entire day eating (cake and spaghetti for bfast after unsuccessfully trying to get McDonald's, then Vietnamese pho, then more cake...and all before 4pm), watching videos, and hanging out together, Uliana and I walked Chien to the bus stop with his luggage and saw him off.  Then we tried not to cry but failed as I walked Uliana to the metro. 

And here's where I'd like to take a moment to describe the incredibly warm and caring nature I see in the Russian people on a daily basis.  Not quite ready to head back to my now empty apartment, and also not able to pull it together, I sat on a bench on the way home and cried.  I didn't want anything, and I didn't know what to do, so that was my temporary way of dealing with it.  Luckily, no one paid me any mind and just kept on their ways - until a guy stopped, turned to me, and asked why my eyes were red, and what I was crying for.  He asked me what was wrong, who had offended me, and how he could help before sitting down, lighting a cigarette, and introducing himself.  His name was Denis, and he said that he's a local hooligan and doesn't like to see girls crying, so he wants to help if he can.  After I explained why I was crying and assured him that no one needed a talking to, he told me that if I didn't cry everything would be ok.  And also that its simply no good, my eyes were all red and my mascara was running.  Which was true. He told me that Russians are good people, but also not to trust anyone, and taught me the phrase не верь, не бойся, не проси (which I'm assuming is from this song).  Once I was satisfactorily calmed down and he'd finished his cigarette, he got up, reminded me not to cry, and left. 

Well, after that I just laughed, took a few deep breaths, and headed back home.  One of the many reasons I love Russia/Russians is that little things like this happen all the time.  Maybe it's partially because I'm young and a girl, but complete strangers are constantly helping or comforting me in some way, even before they realize I'm foreign.  It's so difficult to describe, but it's what has made me fall deeper in love with Russia. 

PS I know I still need to recount my Siberian adventures, but today is just not the day. But it will happen.