Here the aircraft's chassis lifts off the runway. Behind me: the hassle with documents, queues at the bank, jitters at the embassy, a trip across all of Kazakhstan (because it would have been too simple to just go from Aktobe to Astana and return to Aktobe, better to make a little detour, let's say via Almaty, but that's a slightly different story), packing things (that is, equipping a faithful backpack that has seen a bit too much for its kind), giving my mother valerian and convincing my father of my sanity and independence, early exams...

So what's ahead? Holidays in America, a dream, if not of every second person, then certainly of half))

12 hours on a plane is not the easiest way to spend time. You have to force restless yourself to sit in one seat, changing poses from the cultured person on the plane to a bundle of clothes and blanket (yes, it can be cool at that altitude) asleep on the fold-down tray.

And when all the books have been reread (2), all the films rewatched (3), all the games replayed, your body has grown used to being a jelly-like approximation and your shoulder has adapted to being a pillow for a snoring friend, it's already hard to believe that there is land somewhere out there.

Landing.

Hello, America. Alicia Keys' voice automatically starts singing in my head, competing with Frank Sinatra.

This is New York. Yes, this is still just the terminal. But there's an indescribable feeling of satisfaction as if you crossed the

Atlantic Ocean not by plane but with a jetpack.

A long line at passport control. You naively think this is the last time Russian will be heard in such quantity around. A smiling border guard politely asks to place fingers one by one on the scanner to take fingerprints. Either accustomed to working with foreigners not always well-versed in English, or noticing the puppy-like delight on my face, bordering on idiocy, he didn't torment me much and quickly sent me to find baggage.

Thank all the gods that I managed to fit everything necessary into a small bag and could move around light,

I notice my friend's huge suitcase.

I started dreaming. From the airport we were headed to Atlantic City, New Jersey.

We had mapped the route back in KZ, the trip went without adventures, only with a bunch of photos)) The only problem was when, trying to call the employer from the bus station, we tried to stuff 50 cents into the payphone. True,

European ones. We fussed for a long time, got indignant, cursed technology of all kinds, but then of course laughed heartily at our own idiocy. And here we already sit at the nearly empty Atlantic City terminal, with us are other students, but from Russia somehow. Our employer arrives.

How you look at it, the USA is a country of big opportunities, big distances, big cars and corresponding people.

We signed a contract with a large company that organizes camping across the country. Good salary, free housing, availability of overtime, one minus—we lived in the woods on the camp grounds. A little less than an hour and we arrive. Around us a most beautiful forest, a private (almost)

lake, a gym, a pool and cozy small trailers. Some disappointment because of the considerable distance from the city was slightly softened by the news that the ocean was twenty minutes from the camp. Too bad no one specified that this was by car.

They give us bicycles. Best friends of almost every J-1 student. Or the worst enemy. Depends on how you look at it. The choice of iron steed was made by my friend's Tatar cunning and my German resignation. Choosing from the two remaining, she grabbed a presentable mountain bike, proudly shining in the sun. I, a person who last sat on a bike at around 15, got an experienced (judging by the rust)

thin-wheeled contraption the color of any Barbie dress, as it turned out in August still with the handlebars flipped. But one should remember that here, as with people, you can't guess what hides behind a pretty exterior. And so I flew as on a two-wheeled Formula One racer, while my friend's bike would have been faster if someone pushed it from behind.

The first few days were spent adjusting internal clocks, which were clearly bewildered and very offended by such brazen behavior of the sun. That's where the adventures of four months begin. By the way, coincidentally, the work was absolutely not a burden and did not prevent various misadventures from happening, and sitting at home remembering the past summer, images of me working hardly surface in my head. The team, assembled by our beloved boss, was a wild mix.

There were 13 girls, which in itself is a serious test for the psyche of both those around and those involved.

The degree of adequacy varied among us, but almost no one was close to normal, so it was never boring. I think all the camp residents especially regretted it when we were issued golf carts for work. Considering that fewer than half had licenses. Americans had the chance to see spectacular accidents, incredible parking methods, a couple of situations close to catastrophe (your humble servant, carried away by a sense of speed, almost introduced his little cart to a hefty Touareg), ridiculous breakdowns (wrapping a vacuum cleaner cord around the motor?

Call us), and of course musical accompaniment performed by us.

Our overseas colleagues did not get bored with us, and sometimes a bit avoided a society that was noisy for them.

The lifeguard Justin, a good-natured blond, was especially delighted with us. Introducing us to the beauties of the state and various entertainments by accessible means (i.e., having a car), he gladly immersed himself in the world of the euphony of the Russian language. True, for reasons unknown to this day he was most interested in swear words and names of electrical appliances. He, for his part, did not miss a chance to gloat about our incorrect pronunciation. They laughed at me personally for a long time, asking what my SHEDL (schedule) was, and about my pumped-up

MASKLS (muscles).

What became important events for me there?

Probably, from the slightly more than I can immediately recall now, not only good or bad, but at times magical and instructive.

Numerous trips and ideas left ambiguous impressions.

It was incredible to travel relatively cheaply between cities, but sometimes we had to fall asleep at the station. Cold accompanied us everywhere and always.

Due to the larger proportions of Yankees, air conditioners were the most important component of any room. And this created a sharp contrast with the temperature outside. First, excuse me, sweat, then freeze. Brrr.

On one such trip we went to a concert of my beloved OneRepublic led by Ryan Tedder. On the wings of inspiration we flew from the bus station to the stadium, not noticing the oddities around. An amazing concert, incredible rapport with the audience, a powerful energy. You need to be there once to understand. The way back was less pleasant. The streets looked like a ghetto from American movies, and the people around did not inspire usual confidence. After about 10 minutes I realized we were walking past a prison. At night.

Two foreigners. On heels. About seven times in an hour different strange guys approached us, and we, as sensible people should, quickly ran off to the other side.

The bus was met with an unusual joy.

Returning to the camp in the morning on bicycles, we were stopped by the police for suspicious unauthorized recording of the road. That's how they explained it to us. In fact it was just a lamppost. Well, it was night. The woods.

After apologizing they let us go. The next concert was marked by a brighter event.

Walking after the Linkin Park and 30 seconds to

Mars concert, sharing impressions, my Ukrainian friend noticed a "bum" on a bicycle, in strange clothes with tangled hair and a beard, and in a second everyone realized this was not quite a bum. A nervous shout "Jared?!"

With a contrived English accent, and Jared

Leto was already leaving in the opposite direction. But that didn't help him much, by joint efforts with a group of other Russian students who appeared from nowhere, he was caught, touched and of course photographed. A selfie with the frontman was equated to a relic, everyone swore not to wash the hands that touched him. Thank God, that everyone quickly forgot the last part. We hoped for the same luck after the Manchester Inited match, staking out Rooney and goalkeeper De Gea. But those guys were more cautious. By the way, during the match Washington more resembled an English city, I think because of the endless flow of red-gold fans and numerous Rooney clones.

Unusual things sometimes happened in the most unpredictable situations. One evening

I was editing a friend's congratulatory video from Kazakhstan, which required much effort and even caused me to lose myself and my bike somewhere in the state of New Jersey for more than five hours, I sat alone, bothering no one, and around me hovered one shy representative of the male gender. He walked around for a long time, and in the end, daring to approach, asked if I had the Wi-Fi password. My delight and disappointment knew no bounds.

Having received the password, the guy, overcome by emotion, kissed me on the cheek and disappeared, to conquer the expanses of the internet.

As experience showed, organizing a birthday is not only not simple but also entertaining. We had to invent incredible plans to surprise a friend. To start I walked with her through shops, armed with my backpack, and cleverly and absolutely unobtrusively find out what she wanted as a gift.

It remained somehow to be alone for at least half an hour. My brilliant mind had the idea to suggest a bet on who would take more selfies with strangers. I managed to buy everything, took photos with 6 people and went to the meeting place.

On the bench my friend sat suspiciously offended. As it turned out, she hadn't taken a single photo because she wanted to take a picture with a boy "with dreads and dressed cool." He and his friend started to follow her, she got scared and quickly disappeared.

Many various adventures both outside the camp and on its territory happened to us.

But the time of parting was approaching, only

4 of the 13 remained in September. Three months of shared hangouts, trips, blunders, and adventures gave me people to whom a special warm place in my heart is given. You know, it's incredibly pleasant to know that somewhere out there are those who are tied to you, despite the distance.

After work, the girl from Moldova and I with her two friends from Tennessee (constantly placing the stress of the state's name on the last syllable) set off on a tour of the East Coast. The tour, which was unexpected for me, turned out to be for representatives of Chinese nationality. So I learned not only about ordinary America, but also about Chinese America. But the guys are fun, but they love to photograph themselves too much.

New York, Atlantic City, Philadelphia,

Baltimore, Washington, Niagara, Albany,

Boston (my love), Harvard, where everyone says they are cooler than Yale, and Yale, where everyone claims they always beat

Harvard. Of course, both are simply divine.

After the tour, I stayed with the girls for a couple of days in New York. It was a huge test. First, it's not that I'm ecstatic about the city of dreams;

for me Philly, Washington or Boston are much better. And second, the owners of the apartment we booked refused us without explanation a couple of days before arrival, so we searched for accommodation in a hurry, and whatever we found would do. We got one in Brooklyn.

Initially, they gave us the wrong directions and instead of 10-15 minutes we spent an hour, walking around four blocks. Finding the apartment, we called our savior. He came with a huge slobbering dog.

Climbing to the 5th floor, dragging huge luggage, surrounded by the peculiar aroma of Brooklyn apartments, we entered the flat.

At that moment I cursed the internet. You can't lie like that. There was an absolute dump and renovation in progress. Our room was more or less trustworthy, if not for the little mustached neighbor who came out to greet us (explaining: a cockroach). But there was no choice, moreover the owner was incredibly nice to us and quickly tidied up as much as possible.

Resigned to our fate, we settled as comfortably as possible, periodically shooing the happy dog off the bed. Three days flew by as one: endless shopping, tons of eaten ice cream, hangouts in McDonald's, a subway fine (it turned out that the two of us slipped through the same turnstile, no, it's not our fault) and another farewell.

On the last two days at the ocean, I decided to really swim and sunbathe, so at the airport people sometimes shunned me when I forgot to smear my terribly peeling skin with a thick layer of cream. Landing back to my family,

I missed them, but at the same time I clearly understood that I would give a lot for a continuation of such a summer. There were many different things, many different emotions, I flew away with a friend, and returned with an acquaintance. But I found other people who think like me, and think radically differently, I both went hungry (paychecks sometimes disappeared too quickly), and lived in style, and was sad, and rejoiced, got disappointed, and fell in love. I will never forget the ocean.

As if I took a small piece of it with me. Whatever it was, this summer gave me memories. And that's priceless.