07.06.2013
Get ready, it's going to be a long day, which is no surprise since when traveling West, it feels like we're trying to outrun the sun and making a leap in time. My travel companion and I checked in and went through customs; after a tour of Duty-free, we had to hang out (and 'chill') in a nearby cafe-bar. In between complaining about the slow internet in the international terminal, I couldn't believe my brain or where I was—the visa was pasted in, and my eyes weren't deceiving me as they looked at the destination: 'New York'.
After passing through secondary customs, I caught a glimpse of some Orthodox Jews with payot. It was my first time seeing them in person, having only seen them on TV before.
My seat was a peculiar one, 31E. In short, the whole way I stared at signs in English and Spanish: Lavatory Occupied and Lavatorio Ocupado. Overall, a good start to a good trip. I mean, I ended up in economy-class economy (no monitor, movies, or other perks). I put on the socks they gave me without any fuss and covered myself with a blanket. I waited for drinks, didn't overdo it because I felt like my mom was watching me, and honestly, I felt a bit nauseous. I stuck to juice. They started serving food: there were three American citizens in my row, and judging by the 'stewards'' English, I concluded I could handle their job perfectly well. The girl on the left asked for a special meal; they brought her kosher food, she sniffed two buns, and threw it all away. A very interesting older American, who played Angry Birds on his iPad the whole way, always took two portions—he'd eat one and immediately go for a second. Well, they say appetite is a sign of health. The girl on the right didn't eat anything, and a man flying with his family from Kazakhstan a bit further away was shoveling it in just like I was. I looked at the signs glowing at me that the toilet was occupied, as if hinting at where my place was, and they ordered me to put on my 'eye mask' and stick on a sticker asking to be woken up if they were serving food.
I didn't manage to sleep, talked to the only other Russian in my row, filled out the declaration, ate again, and wanted to brush my teeth with the disposable kit in the bathroom—the paste was dried up (Russian international airlines, I suppose).
The landing gear touched the asphalt (American soil now), someone started clapping, but didn't get a response from the rest.
We got out, stood in line, the customs officer gave the green light, waited for my broken bag, which had already caused me quite a bit of trouble back in Moscow, and headed for the exit hoping our coordinator would meet us.
It was impossible to hold back the emotions; he was here. He congratulated us because by the time we got our visas, he was already in New York. We set off through the labyrinths of the 'Big Apple'; after a few stops, our escort left us—the only one who knew NY, by the way. Two stations later, I wished my travel companion a great summer in the 'local dialect' and got off, and that's when the real test of strength began!
to be continued...
