May 26th, flight to America, with a layover in London. British Airways—I never thought I'd fly on such a comfortable plane. I was separated by several thousand kilometers from New York, the city I wanted to visit more than anything in life. All I had to do was fly for a few hours and my dream would become reality. The thing is, I'm terrified of flying! And once again, finding myself on a plane, I turned into the most religious person! Although, that was the only thing that helped me overcome my fear. My cross, my pendant, and a ring—a gift from my parents—were all I needed! I managed fine until London; it was only about a four-hour flight. The company was good, too—a young man who was traveling on the same program as me. He supported me as much as he could! I'm ready to be grateful for that forever! Only the smallest thing remained: crossing the Atlantic Ocean!
The landing gear touched the runway, the plane began to slow down sharply... An indescribable feeling. I'm in New York! It was just John F. Kennedy Airport, but I was incredibly happy, perhaps because I was finally on the ground. My first challenge: communicating with the border officer. That's when I realized how insecure my English was; it's very difficult to orient yourself when the person standing next to you speaks English fluently. Such stress, but I managed. The airport turned out to be a difficult test for me. And all because, before the flight, I had read reviews about how luggage gets lost. And what do you think? On the baggage claim belt, I didn't find my bag. I had tried so hard, attaching identification ribbons so I could instantly find mine in a pile of black bags and make it to the last bus to Manhattan. I looked at the guys I met on the plane and at the border; they all looked happy and were standing with their luggage. And I'm a winner in life! I would have to file a report after all... and, hooray! From under a mountain of bags, a red ribbon appeared. I ran over like a scalded cat to check, and... the first test was passed, my luggage was there, I was happy, in New York—what could be worse? Nothing, right!
Dasha, Anya (I'll switch to names, otherwise it will be difficult), and I ran to the exit as fast as we could. The last bus to Manhattan was at 10:45 pm; if we didn't make it, the prospect of spending an hour and a half in the New York subway or paying 52 dollars plus tips to a taxi driver didn't appeal to us. But as soon as we saw the bus standing nearby, we felt relieved. We paid only 16 dollars and in forty minutes at most, we were at Penn Station. Right next to it was our Hotel Pennsylvania, where we were offered to stay for two days under full-service, plus help with obtaining a Social Security Number and orientation for the program.
