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Return from Russia

I’m writing about events that have transpired almost four months ago now, so of course, I’ve forgotten some details. Fortunately, Kate has helped me get things straight this time.

One thing I forgot to mention last time is that after taking a tour of Pudozh, Kate and I visited her grandmother. I really don’t know how I forgot this. I wasn’t hungry at all, but her grandmother had made bliny (“pancakes,” but actually more like crepes) for Kate and me to eat. They were delicious, and I didn’t want to seem rude, so while Kate and her grandmother talked about things, I ate… and ate, and ate, and ate. Later, I was throwing up from having eaten too much. When will I learn?

We spent a lot of time inside, when we weren’t sleeping, we were watching movies: Darwin’s Nightmare, The Lionshare, The Phantom of the Opera, Forrest Gump, and maybe others.

On New Year’s Eve, Kate and I took it easy. I slept most of the day. In the evening, Kate’s parents and sister went out to ring in the New Year with Kate’s grandmother, so Kate and I had the place to ourselves. A relatively large table had been put out in the living room, and there was a tree in the corner. It looked just like a Christmas tree. We watched TV for a while. On one channel, a Russian movie called The Irony of Fate was playing. Kate told me that it’s always shown on Russian TV on New Year’s. Another channel was showing clips of New Year celebrations from earlier time zones.

After what seemed like forever, it was finally midnight. As we watched the fireworks in Moscow on TV, we ate the traditional New Year’s food of salad Olivier and exchanged gifts. Kate gave me a Girl Talk t-shirt and a card in a commemorative envelope from Soviet times. Then I called my parents and made a point of letting to know that I was talking to them from the future.

I spent the next day looking forward to my school’s last football game during my time as a student. In his final game, Urban Meyer was going to coach the Florida Gators in the Outback Bowl against Penn State. Since I turn to the Internet for all my problems, I figured I’d try to stream a Gainesville radio station that would be broadcasting the game. Kate suggested instead that I try to find the TV broadcast being streamed. I struck gold. Since the game was televised nationally, I found a sketchy website that was streaming a feed of ABC.

So, for four hours, I watched the game. I tried to explain American football to Kate, but I didn’t do a very good job, so I would just tell her when something good happened and when something bad happened. The Gators had suffered several last-second losses during the season, and in the final minutes, with the Gators up 30-24, Penn State was rallying to pull another one on them. Fortunately, an interception led to a touchdown and a victory for Florida.

The next day, January 2, was my last day. Kate made her famous chicken salad, but with the proper ingredients this time. It was just as delicious as it had been before, in my opinion. I packed away what Kate affectionately called Clothes Mountain and finished drinking the cans of Coke I had bought at the local store.

After kissing Kate goodbye, I took my coat off the rack for the last time and said goodbye to her mother and sister. Kate had bought me a bus ticket back to St. Petersburg, so her dad drove me to the bus stop. I thanked him for his hospitality and told him I hoped to see him again soon. And then, once again, I was on my own.

I somehow managed to understand from a woman on the bus that I was sitting in her seat. Other than that, nobody bothered me. This time, I actually read instead of doing nothing. It was more interesting, but I plowed through most of the reading material I had, leaving little for the flight home.

I had made arrangements to stay with a CouchSurfer, so in the morning, once I had arrived back at the bus station in St. Petersburg, I took the subway to the station closest to him. I had some time to kill, so I got a hot coffee at McDonald’s. I only drink hot coffee when I’m trying to wake myself up. (I guess a lot of people do that, actually, but I only use it in case of emergencies like staying awake all night.) The cashier tricked me into also buying a cherry pie, which was delicious. That’s what you call bittersweet right there.

Soon, the CouchSurfer came and took me to his place, where I slept away the afternoon. In the evening, he and his girlfriend made a pizza that reminded me a lot of the pizzas my parents make. We chatted a bit, and after I told them about my plans, they called various cab companies asking about rates and then arranged for the cheapest one to pick me up later. Then we took a walk with some of their friends down to Nevsky Prospect, and I got to see many of the sights I had seen before. We went to a cafe and had tea and some more food.

Later, we got back to my host’s apartment, and the taxi came for me. Soon, I was back at Pulkovo Airport, where I had gotten my first taste of Russia two weeks earlier. It was as dreary as ever, especially so late in the night or early in the morning, whichever it was. Once again, I’d have a layover in Frankfurt, and it was humorously easy to find where I had to go since I think the only other departing flight for hours was a single one to Munich.

In the waiting area or whatever it’s called before you get on the plane (give me a break, I still consider myself a novice traveler), I noticed that there seemed to be a lot of old Americans who were in a tour group or something. On the plane, an old guy and his wife sat next to me. It was snowing outside, and he noticed that I was taking pictures of snowflakes on the window. He spoke up.

“The weather’s not going to be like that in Munich, is it?”

I just about died for a second, but he caught his mistake. “Sorry, Frankfurt.” Oh, old people.

At Frankfurt, I had to go through security to get on to my next flight, and I tried to see if I could get away with going through the metal detector without taking off my boots. It didn’t work, so I had to take them off and try again. And then I had to put them back on, which took forever because they were boots and I hadn’t broken them in yet. When I finally got up, I realized some members of the Bundespolizei were standing right there, and because hours of continuous travel had made me look even more like a crazed loner than usual, they sent me over that way for extra searching. Two or three guys went through all the stuff in my carry-on bag, asking me what this or that was. And then they let me go.

I waited around for hours and hours. It was January 4, the day before my classes were due to start, and it looked like I wasn’t going to miss them. Finally, after a long flight that seemed much longer because I had the worst seat on the plane (near the back, in the middle of the middle row, facing a wall), I was back in the good old USA.

There, a customs agent thought I was suspicious because of the way I handed him my passport. (Because the sleeve of my sweater had caught something, and because I was very tired, my arm moved slowly). “Are you nervous why are you nervous?” he said in a way that is calculated to make people more nervous. I didn’t take the bait, though, because I wasn’t a terrorist or anything. I explained how I had been traveling a lot, and he asked me about my studies and my travels. We talked about the bowl game, and he said he was a Penn State fan. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the illegal TV-streaming website. Oops.

Finally, I was reunited with my family, who had been waiting patiently outside. Because all this talk about the Outback Bowl had made me hungry for Outback Steakhouse, we went there for dinner. I ate a huge burger that I threw up later. When will I learn?

When I got back to my apartment, I was too tired to unpack my bags. But I did open one, just to make sure that the most precious cargo was safe. And it was.

The Bird of Happiness was intact.