Five years at the Faculty of Foreign Languages. Those who managed to drink from the same cup as us know what it's like. In our third year, we broke out to the States for the first time. To practice, find new friends, taste the so-called life abroad, freedom, financial independence, the distant America that our parents, friends, and teachers talked about with such fervor. You can't say anything with more certainty than when you see it with your own eyes.

Here is my humble blog for your consideration. I admit, it's not finished yet, because six months in the States is a whole life in another world, reminiscent of my own, but in a slightly distorted reality. Memories have a tendency to fade if you don't capture them immediately, so I started writing this diary two years ago, right from the scene... At first, it's more childish, less descriptive, enthusiastic, but by the second trip, it takes on slightly different shades... So...

We started the paperwork six months ago, but packed our suitcases in a panic two days before the flight. During those 6 months, we lost hope that we would go due to frequent visa denials, uncertainty about housing and work, but everything worked out. And now we are ready, waving to our tearful moms and friends from the car as we head to Moscow for the airport. Our air route lies through Geneva, and then New York.

In Switzerland, at the border, smiling faces look at the man at the counter from the visa photo. He raises his eyebrows in surprise and asks why the photo has a smile. We look at each other in fear. But he stamps our passports and declarations and says not very comforting words: "For me it is okay. I do not know exactly about them" (meaning the Americans). A black woman at the customs exit opens the zippers of our bags in a proprietary manner.

We got bad seats on the plane, in the middle, so we couldn't look out the window at New York. The people who had the honor of sitting by the window for some reason pulled down their shades to nap or listen to music. We could only watch the flight from the screens, imagining Swiss snow-capped mountains and toy cars on smooth roads that glittered in the sun like molten steel.

On the plane, we had to take care of one very important thing - at home, we received bundles tied with a ribbon with a surprise that we were supposed to open only on the plane. Inside was the warmest handmade letter from friends with best wishes and a couple of our group photos. We are already planning how we will hang them over the bed in our new home in America.

I was looking at the snowflakes stuck to the plane window when they announced landing. The flight attendants clicked their heels in the aisles, pushed carts, and asked dozing passengers to fasten their seatbelts or recline their seats. We barely listened to what the captain was saying, just the usual procedure. Outside temperature, atmospheric pressure, welcome... And then our ears catch an unusual announcement for a plane: they call OUR names and ask us to go to the exit to the flight attendant. In the same flat, monotonous voice, as if it were nothing special. Our employer Edward! He didn't forget us, he is coming to meet us.

It is worth saying here that we were not going to a typical place for Russian students - the city of Durham in North Carolina. An unexplored place...

Can you imagine the joy when three students, who arrived in a completely unfamiliar country, almost without hope that they were expected, suddenly receive news that they haven't been forgotten, and in such a way!

We are forced to sit at the airport for almost five hours waiting for our employer to pick us up. At the airport, the internet is only paid, 9 dollars an hour, so it's difficult to call our parents. Tired from the almost 24-hour trip to New York, we were falling asleep on our feet, yet expecting new miracles...

Our employer Edward traveled from Durham to New York - almost 800 kilometers, just to meet us! He felt sorry for us that we had to sit at the airport for so long and travel for almost a whole day, and promised that right now we would take a small tour of New York. Of course, if we wanted to.

However, no fatigue scared us, although because of it we were limited in words... How new and old it all was at the same time, we had seen these pictures in books, movies, on booklets and posters, and now they all came to life, started moving, started talking... We drove almost in silence, looking at the huge houses with hundreds of floors with bated breath. It was surprising that many windows had no curtains at all. When we asked why, Edward shrugged and replied, "Welcome to New York."

The first thing I remembered after getting out of the car near Baltimore was the air. Hot, tropical, with a floral-ocean mixture. It smelled of salt and magnolias... This is it - summer. Its very core.

After a night at the hotel - a long 5 hours to Durham. And here we are at our employer's house. We are met by his wife with a small dachshund of an unusual color. We say hello, we are taken to the guest room, and 30 minutes later we are already sleeping like the dead.

In the morning, we inspect the surroundings of their cottage community. Perfectly clean streets, smooth lawn speak of unquestionable cleanliness. They take dogs out for walks in white socks; apparently, they remain snow-white even after the walk.

We are afraid that we shouldn't step on the lawn, but the desire is stronger, and now we are jumping on the smoothest grass in the world. I don't know what we are happier about - that we might be on grass that you aren't supposed to walk on, or that we are in America.

Humid climate, windless, sunny weather, clean air, and many perfect, polished panel houses with windows polished to a shine. In the evenings, the smooth paths of the cottages are full of determined runners. But at other times of the day, all the streets are empty, as if there is no one left on earth. In my opinion, there is nothing to do here in the evenings except mow the lawns and run.

So, we don't have housing yet, we haven't started work, we are sitting on our suitcases and on our employer's neck, and starting to make plans. By the way, our employer Edward and his wife Mary are the best. They have three children, three Cuban restaurants, and two dogs. They live in a middle-class house, feed us in the morning and evening, love to talk about borscht and look for an apartment for us. They gladly ask us about Vladimir, Moscow, and Russia in general, are afraid to go to the doctor and show him a sore leg because it will cost them a pretty penny, and promise to take us to baseball and go to the ocean. These are very cordial people, friendly and hospitable. And this is just the beginning...