I sat for a long time in front of a blank sheet of electronic paper, not knowing how to start my story about an American summer. I need a starting point, I thought, and began to recall the brightest moments of that overseas period of my life. And then it started! The incessant ringing of voices, the rapidly scrolling picture outside the window, and a completely wild, gargantuan wave of jokes and laughter. "It's like being in a typical Voronezh barbershop here," I remembered a phrase I had said sometime in July or August. Everyone laughed then. Because everything that was happening to us in America was infinitely far from Voronezh, and even further from anything typical or familiar.

I don't know why I decided on this trip so late. I only thought about participating in Work and Travel in my sixth year of study, even though someone I knew had been going to the States on an exchange program every year since my freshman year. Perhaps, like many others, I didn't want to deal with the difficulties that accompany such serious decisions; I thought narrowly and provincially, afraid to imagine a completely incomprehensible and unfamiliar life that I would have to immerse myself in for a third of a year. Only very lively and persistent friends, who are capable of filling anyone's head with their thoughts, persuaded me to go with them. They were preparing to participate in the program for the second time, knew how everything worked, and so blindly following them didn't seem like such a bad idea. In short, I started brushing up on my English, saving money, persuading my parents, and planning all the necessary arrangements. I remember everything was like a fog: some interview, some payments, some documents and dates. With each successfully completed step, I got closer to America: my friends were more and more envious, and I believed less and less in the reality of what was happening.

I don't know how I passed the interview. Many acquaintances who wanted to go to America were rejected, but I somehow passed through that sieve. My friends, who persuaded me to go and accompanied me at every stage of involvement in the program, were also unable to get a visa. The battle-hardened "J-1s" couldn't clear the hurdle, while I, a debutant, easily covered the distance. After that, I had to figure everything out on my own, so I never really felt at peace.

Doubts tormented me until the very end. I was firmly moving toward my goal of getting to the USA, but at the same time, I didn't fully believe that I really wanted it. And already at the airport, just before the flight, an episode occurred that cut off a new stage of my life and helped me understand my real attitude toward what was happening. Right before the check-in counter, I reached into the folder in my backpack to get my passport. And it wasn't there.

Cold sweat, nausea, dizziness, panic: I could check off all the most serious symptoms. Not a single neuron in my head allowed for the possibility that not flying right now would be a good thing. No, every cell in my body began to pull toward the departure lounge, but I still couldn't find the passport. I was filled with a terrible, burning envy for those who stood there with their passports in their hands.

I did find the document after all: the bottom of the folder had simply torn, and some of the documents had fallen deep into the backpack. The incomparable joy and peace were the reward for the recent panic attack. Boarding the plane went successfully, and now I knew for sure: I was flying toward my dream.

The USA is a leader in the global economy, and American culture is integrated into every country in this world in one way or another. Therefore, it is not surprising that I expected some kind of American superiority in all spheres of life. But upon arrival, the first disappointments set in: a huge queue at the airport with non-working Wi-Fi, an Aeroexpress train to the city that was completely incomprehensible to newcomers, and an absolutely nightmarish New York subway—dirty and uncomfortable. It turned out to be funny: the most negative impressions of the country fell on me in the very first hours of being there. After that, it only got better.

The narrative of what happened next would probably fill a very thick book. It's very funny now to recall all those fears that haunted us at first: we wouldn't find housing, we wouldn't learn to understand Americans, we'd be left without work, we wouldn't be able to find common ground with our neighbors. To somehow sort things out in unfamiliar conditions, we, a small group who arrived together, started a small VK chat: there were about 7 of us. By the end of the summer, everyone had to turn off notifications for new messages because more than 50 participants had gathered in the chat, and messages were arriving literally every minute.

And now imagine: more than 50 people, each of whom is a bright personality wanting to communicate and have fun. I have never in my life encountered such a flow of voices, emotions, jokes, interesting stories, and ideas! Russians, Ukrainians, Kazakhs, Belarusians: we were drawn to each other like magnets, discussed everything under the sun, had as much fun as we could, and periodically switched to English in our conversations so as not to forget it completely while living in America!

Writing this text is too difficult because my head is filled to the brim with images and memories soaked in a horse-sized dose of smiles, but formulating it into coherent words seems like a very difficult task. In short, here are a few theses (forgive me, reader) that might be hard for the reader to understand about what "summer in America" is:

• when not knowing English but communicating in it is a normal thing;

• when the whole restaurant is in an uproar trying to find hot tea for a couple of Englishmen because no one has ever ordered that in all these years;

• when Americans ask to be told what "condensed milk" is and ask to have at least one jar sent from Russia;

• when you can only eat soup at Subway, and that's if you're very lucky;

• when 4 hours of sleep is quite enough;

• when you constantly complain about work and the city, planning to leave, but imagining that you actually have to leave everyone, you start to cry and stay;

• when your alarm clock wakes up everyone in the room, motel, or city, but not you;

• when your pets are Ibrahim the bear and Zhenya the cockroach;

• when a Filipino speaks Russian better than you speak English;

• when everything is "slow" everywhere, but Ramil is "busy";

• when after 1 a.m. it's pool time;

• when you hate pizza but try to eat as much as possible;

• when you warm up with mediocre jokes in the morning to joke like a God in the evening;

• when an 80-year-old grandma who ordered alcohol is surprised why you didn't check her ID;

• when you are in a chat where they never answer questions, except for "who is at Mellow right now?";

• when Andrey shaved off his mustache, and Seryozha shaved his son's eyebrows;

• when you sleep in one motel, do laundry in the second, and swim in the third;

• when your top music list turns out to be something a sane person with musical taste wouldn't listen to even for money;

• when you delete Instagram to free up space to take a few photos that you can later post on Instagram;

Times Square, blinding at any time; Gatlinburg, throwing you into the arms of numerous friends; Miami, carrying you to the peak of bliss; Las Vegas, forcing you not to go outside; Los Angeles, frightening with its speed, where even a cyclist overtakes your car at 80 mph; Chicago, filling the soul with art and peace... America turned out to be so different, so unpredictable. It taught me to appreciate the diversity around me, to find common ground with representatives of dozens of nations; to work hard, but to live beautifully and interestingly; not to believe stereotypes, but to check everything yourself. Not a single day goes by now without a couple of memories from that time. Some friends have even started joking about this, saying that if I were forbidden to say the word "America," I would be silent all the time. But, yes, it was such a time! These were four months that contained so much, so saturated that a whole lifetime later wouldn't be enough to tell everything and express everything in words.

Little white men at traffic lights; strangers asking how you are and wishing you a good day; cheap stores with branded clothing; donut conveyors at Krispy Kreme; two types of meat and one side dish on a plate at Panda Express; boundless Walmart hypermarkets that you can only reach with two transfers; a cup from McDonald's with which you can walk into Subway and pour soda; a million types of peanut butter: this is all what I miss insanely. This is what made my summer. My best summer ever!