The plane's landing gear leaves the runway. Behind me are the paperwork hassles, bank queues, pre-embassy jitters, a trip across all of Kazakhstan (because it would have been too simple to just go from Aktobe to Astana and back, better to take a small detour, say, through Almaty, but that's a different story), packing (which means equipping a faithful backpack that has seen a bit too much for its kind), giving my mother valerian, convincing my father of my adequacy and independence, and early exams... And what's ahead? Holidays in America, a dream for if not every second person, then at least half of them!

12 hours on a plane is not the easiest way to spend time. You have to force your restless self to sit in one seat, changing poses from a cultured person on a plane to a bundle of clothes and a blanket (yes, it gets chilly at that altitude) asleep on the tray table. And when all the books are read (2), all the movies watched (3), all the games played, and your body has become like jelly and your shoulder has adapted to being a pillow for a snoring friend, it's hard to believe that there is land somewhere out there.

Landing. Hello, America. In my head, Alicia Keys' voice automatically starts singing, competing with Frank Sinatra. This is New York. Yes, it's just the terminal for now. But there's an indescribable feeling of satisfaction, as if you crossed the Atlantic Ocean not by plane, but by jetpack. A long line at passport control. You naively assume this is the last time you'll hear so much Russian speech around you. A smiling border guard politely asks me to place my fingers one by one on the scanner for fingerprints. Whether he was used to working with foreigners who weren't always fluent in English, or he sensed the puppy-like excitement on my face, which felt like it bordered on idiocy, he didn't torture me much and quickly sent me to find my luggage. Thanking all the gods that I packed everything I needed into a small bag and could move around light, I spot my friend's huge suitcase. I had dreamed too much. From the airport, we had a road ahead to Atlantic City, New Jersey. We had planned the route back in KZ, the road went without adventures, well, except for a bunch of photos)) The only problem was when, trying to call our employer from the bus station, we tried to shove 50 cents into the machine. European ones, actually. We messed around for a long time, indignant, cursing the technology, but then, of course, we laughed heartily at our own idiocy. And now we are sitting at the empty Atlantic City station, with other students, but from somewhere in Russia. Our employer arrives.

Like it or not, the USA is a country of great opportunities, great distances, big cars, and corresponding people. We signed a contract with a large company that organizes camping across the country. Good salary, free housing, overtime available, one downside—we lived in the forest on the camp grounds. A little less than an hour and we were there. Beautiful forest all around, our own (almost) lake, gym, pool, and cozy little trailers. A certain disappointment due to the considerable distance from the city is slightly softened by the news that the ocean is twenty minutes from the camp. Too bad no one clarified that it was by car.

We are given bicycles. The best friends of almost every J-1 student. Or the worst enemy. Depends on how you look at it. The choice of the iron horse took place through my friend's Tatar cunning and my German doom. Choosing from the two remaining, she grabbed a presentable mountain bike, proudly shimmering in the sun. I, a person who last sat on a bike at 15, got an experienced (judging by the rust) thin-wheeled machine the color of any Barbie dress, which, as it turned out later in August, also had a flipped handlebar. But one must remember that it's like with people, you can't guess what lies behind a beautiful exterior. And so I flew like a two-wheeled Formula 1 car, while my friend's bike would have gone faster if it were pushed from behind.

The first couple of days were spent resetting my internal clock, which was clearly confused and quite outraged by such brazen behavior of the sun. And so the 4-month adventure begins. By the way, the work was absolutely not a burden and did not interfere with various misadventures, and sitting at home remembering the past summer, images of me working hardly ever pop into my head. The team, assembled by our beloved boss, was a wild mix. There were 13 of us girls, which in itself is a serious test for the psyche of both those around us and those participating. The level of adequacy varied, but almost no one was close to normal, so it wasn't boring. I think all the camp residents especially regretted it when we were given golf carts for work. Considering that less than half of us had licenses. Americans got to see enchanting accidents, incredible ways of parking, a couple of situations close to disaster (yours truly, carried away by the sense of speed, almost introduced my little cart to an impressive Touareg), ridiculous breakdowns (winding a vacuum cleaner cord around the motor? Call us), and of course, musical accompaniment in our performance.

Overseas colleagues didn't get bored with us, and sometimes even avoided our slightly noisy company. Justin, the good-natured blonde lifeguard, was especially delighted with us. Showing us the beauties of the states and various entertainments in accessible ways (i.e., having a car), he gladly immersed himself in the world of the melodious Russian language. True, for reasons still unknown, he was most interested in profanity and the names of electrical appliances. He, in turn, did not miss the moment to gloat about our incorrect pronunciation. I was personally laughed at for a long time, being asked what our SHEDL (schedule) was, and about my pumped-up MASKLS (muscles).

What became important events for me there? Probably, out of a little more than I can immediately recall, not only good or bad, but sometimes magical and instructive. Numerous trips and ideas left mixed impressions. It was incredible to travel relatively inexpensively between cities, but sometimes we had to sleep at the station. Everywhere and always, we were accompanied by cold. Due to the increased dimensions of the 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 adored OneRepublic, led by Ryan Tedder. On the wings of inspiration, we flew from the bus station to the stadium, not noticing the oddities around us. A stunning concert, incredible contact with the audience, powerful energy. You need to be at one at least once to understand. The road back was less pleasant. The streets resembled ghettos from American movies, the people around didn't inspire the usual trust either. After 10 minutes, I realize that we are walking past a prison. At night. Two foreigners. In heels. Different strange types approached us about 7 times an hour, and we, as adults should, quickly ran in the other direction. The bus was met with unusual joy. Returning to the camp in the morning on bicycles, we were stopped by the police for suspicious unauthorized filming of the road. That's how they explained it to us. In fact, it was just a flashlight. Well, it was night. Forest. Apologizing, they let us go. The next concert was marked by a brighter event. Walking after a Linkin Park and 30 Seconds to Mars concert, sharing impressions, my Ukrainian friend noticed a "homeless person" on a bike, in strange clothes with tangled hair and a beard, and in a second it dawned on everyone that it wasn't quite a homeless person. A nervous scream "Jared?!" with a fake English accent, and Jared Leto is already driving in the opposite direction. But that didn't help him much; with the joint efforts of a group of other Russian students who appeared out of nowhere, he was caught, touched, and of course, photographed. A selfie with the lead singer was equated to a shrine, everyone swore not to wash the hands they touched him with. Thank God, everyone forgot the latter very quickly. We hoped for the same luck after the Manchester United match, stalking Rooney and goalkeeper De Gea. But those guys were more cautious. By the way, during the match, Washington looked more like an English city, I think because of the endless stream of red-and-gold fans and numerous Rooney clones.

Sometimes unusual things happened in the most unpredictable situations. One evening I was editing a congratulatory video for a friend from Kazakhstan, which required a lot of effort and even caused me and my bike to be lost somewhere in New Jersey for more than five hours, I was sitting, not bothering anyone, and a shy male representative was circling around. He walked around for a long time, and finally daring to approach, asked if I had the Wi-Fi password. My tenderness and disappointment knew no bounds. Having received the password, the guy kissed me on the cheek out of emotion and disappeared to conquer the expanses of the Internet.

As experience has shown, organizing birthdays is not only not simple, but also exciting. I had to invent incredible plans to surprise my friend. To begin with, I went shopping with her, armed with my backpack, and cunningly and absolutely unobtrusively found out what she wanted as a gift. It remained to somehow stay alone for at least half an hour. My brilliant mind was visited by the thought of proposing a bet on who would take more selfies with strangers. I managed to buy everything, took pictures with 6 people, and went to the meeting place. My friend was sitting on the bench, looking suspiciously offended. As it turned out, she didn't take a single photo because she wanted to take a picture with a boy "with dreadlocks and coolly dressed." He and his friend started following her, she got scared and quickly hid.

Many different adventures happened to us both outside the camp and on its territory. But the time for parting was approaching, only 4 out of 13 remained in September. 3 months of joint hangouts, trips, screw-ups, and adventures gave me people to whom a separate warm little place is given in my heart. You know, it's incredibly pleasant to know that somewhere out there are those who are attached to you, despite the distance.

After work, I and a girl from Moldova with her two friends from Tennessee (constantly correcting the pronunciation of the state to the last syllable) went on a tour of the East Coast. The tour, which was unexpected for me, turned out to be for representatives of the Chinese nationality. So, I know not only about ordinary America, but also Chinese America. But they are fun guys, 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 challenge. Firstly, it's not that I'm delighted with the city of dreams; for me, Philly, Washington, or Boston are much better. And secondly, the owners of the apartment we booked refused us without explanation a couple of days before arrival, so we were looking for an apartment in a hurry, and whatever we could find. We found one in Brooklyn. Initially, we were given the wrong directions and instead of 10-15 minutes, we spent an hour walking around 4 blocks. Finding the apartment, we called our savior. He came with a huge, loving, and drooling dog. Climbing to the 5th floor, dragging huge luggage, surrounded by the peculiar aroma of Brooklyn apartments, we entered the apartment. At that moment, I cursed the Internet. You can't lie like that. It was an absolute dump and started renovations. Our room was more or less trustworthy, if not for the small mustachioed neighbor (I clarify: a cockroach) who came out to meet us. But there was no choice, especially since the owner was incredibly sweet to us and quickly tidied up as much as possible. Resigned to our fate, we settled in with maximum comfort, periodically chasing the happy dog off the bed. 3 days flew by like one, endless shopping, tons of eaten ice cream, hangouts at McDonald's, a fine in the subway (it so happened that we both slipped through one gate, no, we are not to blame), and another farewell.

In the last two days at the ocean, I decided to swim and sunbathe well, so at the airport, people sometimes shied away from me when I forgot to smear my terribly peeling skin with a thick layer of cream. Landing to my family, I missed them, but at the same time, I perfectly understood that I would give a lot for the 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 was hungry (the paycheck sometimes walked away too quickly), and lived in luxury, and was sad, and rejoiced, was disappointed, fell in love. Everything 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 is priceless.