I'll be on the plane home in a few hours. It has been a very nice summer and, although the tone of my comments might not make Russia sound like a vacation destination, there is something appealing about this place.
I had the strangest sensation when I was flying home from Saint Pete the first time, seventeen years ago. In spite of the harsh conditions, the crummy food, the snow and then the mosquitoes, the unsmiling faces, I missed the city as soon as the plane was in the air.
Every time I've been here, this same cycle has repeated. Right now, sitting in my room, I can't think of anything other than getting home, but tomorrow I'll feel differently, I know.
I don't know exactly what emotion it is that I feel, but after feeling it over and over again, I know where I've seen it before. . .
Some time ago, I was at the state fair(e) in North Carolina. I let myself be persuaded to go onto that ride -- "The Hammerhead" or something like that. It's the one that has two long, rust-streaked arms, each with a cage for two people on one end and a counterweight on the other end. (I think it's real name is "The Deferred Maintenance")The guy running it is in a grubby white t-shirt and looks like he's got nothing to lose. The arms swing in opposite directions, scissor-like, pausing at the top of their arc and then swooping down. Again and again. The ride is nauseating and you only catch glimpses of the insubstantial base a hundred feet down. You feel nothing but regret at your decision.
Eventually, the arms stop their crazy flailing and your cage is safe on the ground. Two steps away from the ride the regret turns into exhilaration and you seriously consider doing it again.
That is Russia.
Living here is deliberate, it takes effort, and you emerge feeling more alive for having survived.
Let me catch my breath and I have no doubt that I'll be back here again.
