tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70679548178992350022024-03-05T13:32:04.924-08:00WUSSIA - My Russia Trilogy AdventuresJournals from my infamous Russian adventures and misadventures from 2002-2005, for your education and entertainment.WuMasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533298982880223872noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067954817899235002.post-68847605382498022232002-07-18T09:45:00.000-07:002008-02-19T10:07:15.023-08:00Chapter 6: The wonders of the Hermitage Winter Palace and meeting Natasha E.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL36cbC7vIa2_CTGRhAogewhJfNDV4Cc5Mw2VZefmTlE2Ytbqh_vQuvfx_J6kUrvFVqgZrXV4HbmV8CRn6N-YrtrM5stfsVjyZDcx6-WneciboGGJiLdeDLCxvvBqCEAkebsu03JfmgdxK/s1600-h/DVC000040.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL36cbC7vIa2_CTGRhAogewhJfNDV4Cc5Mw2VZefmTlE2Ytbqh_vQuvfx_J6kUrvFVqgZrXV4HbmV8CRn6N-YrtrM5stfsVjyZDcx6-WneciboGGJiLdeDLCxvvBqCEAkebsu03JfmgdxK/s320/DVC000040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168750671899373234" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style="">July 18, 2002<br /></b><b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">(Note:<span style=""> </span>The reason I put Natasha E. in the chapter title is so as to not confuse her with Natalia T., my backup girl from Anastasia Web Agency)<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As the three of us approached the giant gate of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Hermitage</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Winter</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Palace</st1:placetype></st1:place>, we marveled at it's size.<span style=""> </span>Its interior was decorated in splendor, and it was very crowded inside with both Russians and foreign tourists.<span style=""> </span>I knew from my travel guide book that there was a cheaper fare for Russians and a more expensive fare for foreigners.<span style=""> </span>I was hoping to try to get the local fare.<span style=""> </span>When we got to the ticket office, they automatically charged me the foreign fare of $10 rather than the local fare of $2.<span style=""> </span>Jasson had to pay the same fare as me but Jesús got the local fare somehow because of some special pass he had.<span style=""> </span>We then were directed to leave our backpacks with some luggage clerks who took it and gave us a number tag claim.<span style=""> </span>We made sure to get our cameras and video camera out first.<span style=""> </span>As we went through the guards and ticket takers, one of them suddenly pointed to our cameras and we realized that we had to pay extra for bringing in cameras and camcorders.<span style=""> </span>We went back and paid another hundred rubles for a ticket to do that, and came back in again.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8liPoVi7fLIjQx64yWw5TaBxAyP0ldI8gbVczAQgOp2UcRdbcfIratS9xx2lQz3QXo6a1AjN47mi3uU_gN6IKE9wHu3p3fRUsp1rC6t3HddmSqJ9x22L6zbqXi8Ffxn8EjujJLuqyepF/s1600-h/DVC000042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8liPoVi7fLIjQx64yWw5TaBxAyP0ldI8gbVczAQgOp2UcRdbcfIratS9xx2lQz3QXo6a1AjN47mi3uU_gN6IKE9wHu3p3fRUsp1rC6t3HddmSqJ9x22L6zbqXi8Ffxn8EjujJLuqyepF/s320/DVC000042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168750680489307842" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdWiyKHYbMXF3EGKMQST9jG_9ntlcpNQiyRKqbIBMTLBlOfr9k9CNaFD6L4Opqf2W-rT2P-xwHnr1cUnbPDLEMBSbNeSZzuEqGgoR4F8nlNsbckWFNQCNv6EPLhl8a9JYOr3GNv5oV0wU/s1600-h/DVC000035.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdWiyKHYbMXF3EGKMQST9jG_9ntlcpNQiyRKqbIBMTLBlOfr9k9CNaFD6L4Opqf2W-rT2P-xwHnr1cUnbPDLEMBSbNeSZzuEqGgoR4F8nlNsbckWFNQCNv6EPLhl8a9JYOr3GNv5oV0wU/s320/DVC000035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168750684784275154" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">After we climbed the first grand staircase to the first level (or is it second level?) we realized we were immediately in a labyrinth.<span style=""> </span>There wasn't only one way to go either, there were multiple forks and turns at ever corridor, hall, and room.<span style=""> </span>We knew we had to stick together because if we got lost, there would be no way to find each other and no intercom was set up there (and even if there was an intercom, I'm not sure how it would help anyway lol).<span style=""> </span>Although the antiques, paintings, and relics were beautiful and grande, it was difficult for me to enjoy it all because the heat inside was incredible, and I constantly sweated a lot even though I rarely sweat in general.<span style=""> </span>There was no air conditioning inside like there would have been in the states, and it was humid as well.<span style=""> </span>And to make matters worse, the thousands of people around us inside raised the temperature in there with their body heat as well!<span style=""> </span>Had it been cool, it would have been much more enjoyable.<span style=""> </span>The relics and paintings here were not just from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, but from all over the world too.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6dUaJo5LgOMCH9_bjncTtA5r-gsA7AsERUTQOxCAJpOg1y57VhzN9op6QZlXGqf7J87DFwGs13ghVPXS-tnrUykeT8m0356lnzhZklCekFF-hlJTNn66M772euQcypnO2nTkcFHQNxKrZ/s1600-h/RUSSIA6.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6dUaJo5LgOMCH9_bjncTtA5r-gsA7AsERUTQOxCAJpOg1y57VhzN9op6QZlXGqf7J87DFwGs13ghVPXS-tnrUykeT8m0356lnzhZklCekFF-hlJTNn66M772euQcypnO2nTkcFHQNxKrZ/s320/RUSSIA6.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752329756749570" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYoXflx_ZL9GpQCKdGG5cmZzPcQ11_F7yR0AAWV3INuLm8s4NYiTnjKFejgsk4GfrV_PrvCPA7Y7AgYlYcOn8yWc3om6S9PksxKM3N-togmo3NVttmEfjlKJKaviTVe8hRPYgym1YgJ7ip/s1600-h/DVC000036.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYoXflx_ZL9GpQCKdGG5cmZzPcQ11_F7yR0AAWV3INuLm8s4NYiTnjKFejgsk4GfrV_PrvCPA7Y7AgYlYcOn8yWc3om6S9PksxKM3N-togmo3NVttmEfjlKJKaviTVe8hRPYgym1YgJ7ip/s320/DVC000036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168750697669177058" border="0" /></a>(Some hot girls I was admiring)<br /><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As we went from room to room, hall to hall, in the labyrinth, taking pictures and video footage, I suddenly was not even sure anymore whether we were passing the same area twice or if this was new territory.<span style=""> </span>It was hard to tell, so I kept asking "Have we been here before?"<span style=""> </span>My bad sense of direction didn't help either.<span style=""> </span>There were also little kiosks scattered throughout the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Winter</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Palace</st1:placetype></st1:place> which sold books and souvenirs on the Hermitage.<span style=""> </span>We chatted and made small talk with some of the girls working at these kiosks and they taught us some Russian and were very friendly and open.<span style=""> </span><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijY00aG-CL9l5wuP0dyAzvExs_qP22rQONusaT-cgb-J4kofFSOk7AYJkn3RxJhgXGn1JoY4JniPqGrwSAzoVjmMFUQOxmFtGmfTuAxWPYSWQ769_-ES1tnYiHSZe9st6W6VuzmpKiKJ6N/s1600-h/DVC000038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijY00aG-CL9l5wuP0dyAzvExs_qP22rQONusaT-cgb-J4kofFSOk7AYJkn3RxJhgXGn1JoY4JniPqGrwSAzoVjmMFUQOxmFtGmfTuAxWPYSWQ769_-ES1tnYiHSZe9st6W6VuzmpKiKJ6N/s320/DVC000038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168750697669177074" border="0" /></a>(Jesus with a girl selling souvenirs)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">When we got to some windows, we looked outside at the humungus courtyard that lay in the center of all the buildings of this palace.<span style=""> </span>Just to give you an idea, it looked about as big as the big courtyard in the middle of "The Forbidden City" did in the movie "The Last Emperor."<span style=""> </span>Because of my vivid imagination and interest in military history, I imagined a vast army belonging to the Czar lined up in that courtyard in formations and beautifully tailored uniforms.<span style=""> </span>However, rather than an army, the courtyard was lined with dozens of tour buses.<span style=""> </span>We noticed plenty of tour groups everywhere in there, with the guide holding up number signs so their group members can keep track of where they were.<span style=""> </span>As we passed these groups, we heard mostly European languages being spoken by the guides.<span style=""> </span>But there were tour groups from all over the world in every language.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Eventually, we ascended to the second and third floors of the palace too.<span style=""> </span>The third floor was mainly a small painting gallery with a gift shop inside.<span style=""> </span>After that, we decided we had had enough and should begin descending to the exit.<span style=""> </span>My feet were killing me at that point too.<span style=""> </span>As we began trying to find our way down, we realized there was still plenty of areas of the palace museum that we missed, so we stopped in them along the way.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hdNGjmfTcuzKah0GZI_WMGob3YQWkCG2cptNMNEnKqXF82kFWmfINcoN1CNhPtlN5s2cUKhUiQtYq1_dneoOamAuDaPYM3uBFIN3omtt479vhEThG494q7RhbBda7D_oPvyFEyecpOKB/s1600-h/DVC000045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hdNGjmfTcuzKah0GZI_WMGob3YQWkCG2cptNMNEnKqXF82kFWmfINcoN1CNhPtlN5s2cUKhUiQtYq1_dneoOamAuDaPYM3uBFIN3omtt479vhEThG494q7RhbBda7D_oPvyFEyecpOKB/s320/DVC000045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752342641651490" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGsSy6Wk3a8cJTsiTyhtCCm5lAB955fd9liQuRe8wBMgzC6UGtJxfKVQg67kgRoIJwRV24ZNzj9SFz9STascrsuzyDAMB_Rdz5HgFXzWTvm6X1u7MRw6l5sKVGWHkBs0oQVVgBJrnEIAN/s1600-h/DVC000054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGsSy6Wk3a8cJTsiTyhtCCm5lAB955fd9liQuRe8wBMgzC6UGtJxfKVQg67kgRoIJwRV24ZNzj9SFz9STascrsuzyDAMB_Rdz5HgFXzWTvm6X1u7MRw6l5sKVGWHkBs0oQVVgBJrnEIAN/s320/DVC000054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752999771647874" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">At one point, we passed through a big red room with a giant pot in the center.<span style=""> </span>As I was filming footage of it with my camcorder, Jasson and Jesús passed to the next room.<span style=""> </span>I started making my way to follow them when a girl with a great firm hardbody and dark brown hair tied in a braided pony tail walked by.<span style=""> </span>The back of her looked a lot like the back of the video game character Lara Croft on the game "Tomb Raider".<span style=""> </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiD5eiBz8jQ4PVNKckJYlEvzEFgkq_z7UVMkt00nktEAoRwO0omQpvgEHNF-RnNY-8yoEqrUpSu9xj_njgUnv74HDGgzuFX8X8V7sBqijpBi0R_-Dk0KMLMUr3mCzt44JTT96dbDEkKmhg/s1600-h/DVC000047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiD5eiBz8jQ4PVNKckJYlEvzEFgkq_z7UVMkt00nktEAoRwO0omQpvgEHNF-RnNY-8yoEqrUpSu9xj_njgUnv74HDGgzuFX8X8V7sBqijpBi0R_-Dk0KMLMUr3mCzt44JTT96dbDEkKmhg/s320/DVC000047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752342641651506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Wanting to get a shot of her great looking backside, I turned the camera at her and walked forward.<span style=""> </span>When she turned around, I turned off the recording in my camera.<span style=""> </span>Immediately she made eye contact with me.<span style=""> </span>I stared at her back and smiled.<span style=""> </span>She looked like she had something to say to me, so I waited to see what she was going to do.<span style=""> </span>After a few seconds of staring at each other, she said something, and I said "What?"<span style=""> </span>And she said "You from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>?" and I said "Me?<span style=""> </span>Oh no, I'm from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, but I'm Chinese American.<span style=""> </span>You?" to which she replied "Russian."<span style=""> </span>She appeared interested in conversing further, so we did.<span style=""> </span>Although she barely spoke any English, we at least made attempts to communicate with my dictionary and breaking our messages into small parts.<span style=""> </span>I noticed that she sort of had an Eastern exotic look to her, though not Asian or Indian or Arabic.<span style=""> </span>It's very difficult to describe.<span style=""> </span>After a while, since I got good friendly interested vibes from her, I asked if I could call her and she said nodded.<span style=""> </span>Borrowing a pen from someone nearby again, I got out some paper and wrote her my number at the hostel (I had no direct line there but people could call and leave messages with the receptionist), my email and number in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>I gave her a delicate brown piece of receipt paper and she wrote her hotel phone number, room number (so I could ask for the extension to her room, get your mind out of the gutter!), and mobile telephone number.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As we were doing this, Jasson and Jesús came back for me to see what the delay was.<span style=""> </span>When they saw me and this girl writing stuff down for each other, they immediately knew what was going on and became patient in waiting for me.<span style=""> </span>After we were done exchanging numbers, I introduced them all.<span style=""> </span>Her name, she said, was Natasha.<span style=""> </span>As we mingled for a bit, I noticed and liked how perky her personality was.<span style=""> </span>She had a way of making you feel likable and giggly with her perky cute smile and voice.<span style=""> </span>Her attitude and perkiness was contagious and I felt good and upbeat just being around her.<span style=""> </span>As we mingled, we suddenly took out our camcorders and decided to film each other.<span style=""> </span>Natasha also took out hers as well.<span style=""> </span>It was a small flat square shaped video camera and looked very expensive.<span style=""> </span>"She must come from a rich family" I thought.<span style=""> </span>When I also noticed that she had braces, I thought that she must definitely come from an affluent family if she can afford that as well because so far I haven't seen anyone else in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region> with braces.<span style=""> </span>We all filmed clips of each other introducing each other with our three camcorders.<span style=""> </span>I also got a picture of me and Natasha taken with my camera by one of my friends.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpu1HbgBeqr85WlTHpOzwgVkciQC2mJPYOi6nYnPFr83E9sk65oltdhZsJe-G1JqJF8-Go6pO2DQvALE9qzkHK-Zv02K9PcI-5BN661aw4c5ubyVm_CWoxJHGZVHgBLP7D23_HBt0TZ_Q9/s1600-h/DVC000050.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpu1HbgBeqr85WlTHpOzwgVkciQC2mJPYOi6nYnPFr83E9sk65oltdhZsJe-G1JqJF8-Go6pO2DQvALE9qzkHK-Zv02K9PcI-5BN661aw4c5ubyVm_CWoxJHGZVHgBLP7D23_HBt0TZ_Q9/s320/DVC000050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752346936618818" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2X2tMqUOzXiiQu3eZP3X2xEwxrklJFQxm3-jJ-SWOjXUVB6o2D3_Ql42DievAVuhV9JMe2mv18sEDwZB6xs7kyE6PZQNX3E2zcD62YsuD-CibJoUBDJz_SZI561yz40iK-m8x8TheSrc/s1600-h/DVC000051.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2X2tMqUOzXiiQu3eZP3X2xEwxrklJFQxm3-jJ-SWOjXUVB6o2D3_Ql42DievAVuhV9JMe2mv18sEDwZB6xs7kyE6PZQNX3E2zcD62YsuD-CibJoUBDJz_SZI561yz40iK-m8x8TheSrc/s320/DVC000051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752974001844050" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtV1s7p2LLn6slg2pKxboifUPbyQm2llXjFOVXrlpVLQpfOGxDk9MTkEK2VTfmTxdNZbxNBNExt1HbB5sHXDH2VYihDXk0ttrhf5xK270gP1JCD8rBsZW3QYElim7zHigT2QtqQueSfXZ_/s1600-h/DVC000052.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtV1s7p2LLn6slg2pKxboifUPbyQm2llXjFOVXrlpVLQpfOGxDk9MTkEK2VTfmTxdNZbxNBNExt1HbB5sHXDH2VYihDXk0ttrhf5xK270gP1JCD8rBsZW3QYElim7zHigT2QtqQueSfXZ_/s320/DVC000052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752978296811362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjevHsQaORAjiLmXQCpZWfwMnezsuKZpSqVQKDoAZO9peQ9XMooQnJcfmsO_IF90D94ji7_uDso1EsLNbWfYIDeCQyzLn7sCo0JEJEiFrQkzsFmKc3EFNyt_FiuFUwp5bYiKTGs0ihgl-/s1600-h/DVC000053.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjevHsQaORAjiLmXQCpZWfwMnezsuKZpSqVQKDoAZO9peQ9XMooQnJcfmsO_IF90D94ji7_uDso1EsLNbWfYIDeCQyzLn7sCo0JEJEiFrQkzsFmKc3EFNyt_FiuFUwp5bYiKTGs0ihgl-/s320/DVC000053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752986886745970" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZ4gT_vLgwi05Kq5-Sjlgb0FehP2pd1yFydXmUy5CjErV7XpodBtMQ5We8s-YP2VcbLCAC1i1LEpaSrkZFy88vAoLILnuvMZdtXs8LWO2ZiAeXBL4hwPha7H7ytnBuKW4A-OKyp3MmcH4/s1600-h/RUSSIA7.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZ4gT_vLgwi05Kq5-Sjlgb0FehP2pd1yFydXmUy5CjErV7XpodBtMQ5We8s-YP2VcbLCAC1i1LEpaSrkZFy88vAoLILnuvMZdtXs8LWO2ZiAeXBL4hwPha7H7ytnBuKW4A-OKyp3MmcH4/s320/RUSSIA7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168752334051716882" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Afterward, as we asked about each other, we found out that Natasha was lost and looking for her friend.<span style=""> </span>I kept trying to ask her "Where did you last see her?" but she didn't understand my question.<span style=""> </span>Finally, I led her out of the room to find a staff person.<span style=""> </span>When I did, I explained to the staff person in English that Natasha was lost and asked if she could help her.<span style=""> </span>The staff person spoke to Natasha in Russian for a while, and then told me that there was nothing they could do and that she would have to go wait at the front entrance for her friend.<span style=""> </span>She also seemed to say that Natasha was part of a tour, so I asked "Can't you track down where this tour is right now?" and she replied "Russian tours are not like European tours.<span style=""> </span>They do not wait for you.<span style=""> </span>The only thing she can do now is wait at the front entrance."<span style=""> </span>Natasha seemed in a hurry so she started walking toward the front entrance and I waved her goodbye.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As she walked off, I looked at her great looking back body side again and thought "I can't believe I just made eye contact with a good looking girl like that across a crowded room and just exchanged phone numbers like that!<span style=""> </span>That NEVER happens in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>!<span style=""> </span><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region> sure is VERY different after all!<span style=""> </span>I hope she really likes me.<span style=""> </span>She gave me a lot of good vibes.<span style=""> </span>I'll definitely call her tomorrow and I hope we get together soon.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps Olga ditching me today was a blessing after all since I met someone far more interesting."<span style=""> </span>Then I rejoined Jasson and Jesús and we slowly made our way to the entrance we came in through earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">When we got outside, I noticed that Natasha was standing out there re-united with her friend, who was a short blonde girl.<span style=""> </span>I went up to her again and said "So you found your friend!" and she introduced her friend with the same name as her, Natasha again.<span style=""> </span>As the five of us mingled, Jasson suddenly began chatting with two Arabic girls nearby.<span style=""> </span>As me and Natasha were trying to understand each other, Jasson came forward with the two Arabic girls and told me that these Arabic girls could speak both Russian and Arabic and could translate between me and Natasha.<span style=""> </span>I said "But I don't speak Arabic" and he replied "Ah but I do, so you just tell me your message in English, and I'll translate it into Arabic to these two girls, and they will translate it into Russian to Natasha."<span style=""> </span>A light bulb clicked within me.<span style=""> </span>"That's a great idea!" I said.<span style=""> </span>So I began relaying messages through this process, to Jasson in English, then he to the Arabic girls in Arabic, and them to Natasha in Russian.<span style=""> </span>Natasha replied by going the opposite way, to the Arabic girls in Russian, who in turn translated to Jasson in Arabic, who in turn translated to me in English.<span style=""> </span>It was a perfect combination.<span style=""> </span>I was amazed at the teamwork that was going on here.<span style=""> </span>It seemed that outer forces were helping me get to know Natasha.<span style=""> </span>Everything seemed to be clicking.<span style=""> </span>I took this all as a good sign.<span style=""> </span>Finally, Natasha relayed to me through the process that she and her friend were on their way to see the ballet, and that I could come with them if I wanted to.<span style=""> </span>I didn't want to impose, and plus me and my friends already had plans to go explore St. Isaacs Cathedral after this, so I suggested that I call her tomorrow and we could just meet then.<span style=""> </span>She relayed that that was a good plan, so we said our goodbyes and departed.<span style=""> </span>I thanked the two Arabic girls for their help and we went on our way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>WuMasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533298982880223872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067954817899235002.post-7066899955256829902002-07-18T09:19:00.000-07:002008-02-19T09:39:54.583-08:00Chapter 5: St. Petersburg tours with Jasson and Jesús<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >July 18, 2002</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The next day on Friday morning, I ate breakfast and wondered what I should say to Olga today.<span style=""> </span>I decided that it's best to ask her what she thinks of me and if we have any chance at a relationship, so I didn't live in doubt and waste time with her.<span style=""> </span>During breakfast, I got out my camcorder and took some footage of the breakfast area.<span style=""> </span>Surprisingly, the breakfast server lady, whom I described before as always looking grumpy and apathetic, suddenly smiled when the camera was pointed at her.<span style=""> </span>I said "Kak vas zavut?" which in Russian meant "What is your name" and she smiled and said "Maya".<span style=""> </span>I guess people want to make a good impression in front of the camera.<span style=""> </span>All the other tourists I filmed there also acted friendlier and happier than usual when the camera was pointed at them.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3VSQKHz5CQDJnvuYkcT_0uXOVQ4TTyDaf4MkO7i1NQwA_0kKdusbrqUlfJc5s8zC4R3Kw09Y9x6bUGpIDWWg0EYi85l4yJHwb-aoNNsKL-tWO_SwX20vR1B1pbaqsd6nD5D1aZhuLsghq/s1600-h/DVC000021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3VSQKHz5CQDJnvuYkcT_0uXOVQ4TTyDaf4MkO7i1NQwA_0kKdusbrqUlfJc5s8zC4R3Kw09Y9x6bUGpIDWWg0EYi85l4yJHwb-aoNNsKL-tWO_SwX20vR1B1pbaqsd6nD5D1aZhuLsghq/s320/DVC000021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168743447764381202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkTeKwXV6FPgCx7Q5ZzvknqKrGKC8O7MtygHNC5BW4tjtuTQhNnY6-im5Z3JumybEArNouIN7jMj8UQxNUljHM-vBtcJlxjwm1Bi9HVHKSbyykAlLHK9H4Pgmw7oCenYPY0tNydEWzAh2/s1600-h/DVC000022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkTeKwXV6FPgCx7Q5ZzvknqKrGKC8O7MtygHNC5BW4tjtuTQhNnY6-im5Z3JumybEArNouIN7jMj8UQxNUljHM-vBtcJlxjwm1Bi9HVHKSbyykAlLHK9H4Pgmw7oCenYPY0tNydEWzAh2/s320/DVC000022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168743456354315810" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Then I went to the lobby to use the payphone there.<span style=""> </span>I called Olga to see what she wanted to do today, but she said that she had to go shopping with her sister in the morning, then work all day and night again, first at her teaching job and then at her babysitting job at night.<span style=""> </span>Frustrated, I said "Olga, you knew months ago that I was coming this week.<span style=""> </span>Why did you not make time for us this week?<span style=""> </span>Why did you not arrange your schedule in advance?"<span style=""> </span>She replied "I told you before, my schedule changes everyday and I cannot predict it.<span style=""> </span>Right now I have these obligations today and I have no choice.<span style=""> </span>Call me tomorrow morning ok?"<span style=""> </span>I sadly agreed and said "Ok, I will try to find something else to do then.<span style=""> </span>Bye." and then hung up. <span style=""> </span>Realizing that I had no idea when or if ever I would see Olga again, I decided to start enacting my backup plan (described in the Preparation, Plan and Strategy section) in the meantime and went to my room to take out the paper sheet of phone numbers from my luggage, to call Natalia from Anastasia Web, who started writing me shortly before I left for my trip.<span style=""> </span>She had agreed to show me around when I arrived in this city.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">When I got back to the lobby, there were two guys there, one was speaking with a Mexican accent, and and the other was dark skinned but I couldn't tell what nationality he was.<span style=""> </span>They were talking about a tour and so I asked about it, knowing that I might not have anything to do today.<span style=""> </span>They said that they had a guided tour around the city scheduled in a van with a tour guide, and that if I came, it would be cheaper for all of us because the fare would be divided into three instead of two.<span style=""> </span>I asked the price if I joined, and he said 15 dollars so I agreed, but said that I just needed a few minutes to make a phone call to someone.<span style=""> </span>I called Natalia and when she answered, it was obvious that she couldn't understand anything I was saying so I looked at the hostel receptionist across the lobby and beckoned with my hand for her to come over.<span style=""> </span>I said "Can you ask her where and when she wants to meet me?" and she said ok and spoke with her briefly in Russian and then hung up and wrote down the name of the metro station that she wanted to meet me at, and said that she'll meet me there at 8pm.<span style=""> </span>She said that this metro station on Nevsky was the easiest place to meet someone because it is small and has easy to see entrances and exits which are close together.<span style=""> </span>This was perfect, I thought, because it now gives me time to go on the tour with these two guys first.<span style=""> </span>I thanked her and put the paper in my pocket.<span style=""> </span>Then I grabbed my backpack with my camera and camcorder inside and told the two men that I was ready.<span style=""> </span>We got into a parked van outside with a male driver and female English speaker inside, and then got acquainted.<span style=""> </span>The Mexican guy was named Jesús (pronounced Huises) and was from <st1:city st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city> touring both <st1:country-region st="on">Russia</st1:country-region> and <st1:place st="on">Europe</st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>The other guy was named Jasson (yes his name is spelled with two "s"'s) and was from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Lebanon</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>We got acquainted very easily and felt like old friends and comrades.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The van first stopped on request at a nearby electronics store, and we went in because Jesús wanted to get a voltage converter (from the foreign 220 volt to American 110 volt) so he could charge his camcorder batteries.<span style=""> </span>When they said they didn't have it, I told him "Don't worry.<span style=""> </span>I brought one that I got from Radio Shack.<span style=""> </span>You can just borrow mine." so he agreed and we went back to the van.<span style=""> </span>The next stop was at their tour agency office, so we could pay the tour fee.<span style=""> </span>After I paid them the 15 dollars in cash, I asked them if they could give me some contact information for any local marriage agencies.<span style=""> </span>They said they worked with one called A Foreign Affair and gave me their contact number.<span style=""> </span>"Perfect!" I thought "since I had ordered addresses from their agency before and was just wondering if they had a local office in this city."<span style=""> </span>I put the paper in my pocket and thanked them, and we were on our way.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As we drove through the main streets, the female guide spoke through a microphone and described the sights that we passed by.<span style=""> </span>Our next stop was at a plaza with historical buildings all around it.<span style=""> </span>Immediately, some salesman carrying boxes full of souvenir boxes came to us to pitch their hard sell.<span style=""> </span>They spoke English very good too, and I was surprised that they'd use their great language skills to do this.<span style=""><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgynILTd1Ntu8i-xpLJ8_7xgbBwADiVD2rvAA-AbBaRpZhx_9JUKWQRNZfA6rPjfJHMf4njUBIRsEakvif4R6EM7KbH-Pk5scW3ZY4lTq_x1UuLEiY-YKF0uU-rSTSOki7rS9rKjnZk9QLH/s1600-h/DVC000024.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgynILTd1Ntu8i-xpLJ8_7xgbBwADiVD2rvAA-AbBaRpZhx_9JUKWQRNZfA6rPjfJHMf4njUBIRsEakvif4R6EM7KbH-Pk5scW3ZY4lTq_x1UuLEiY-YKF0uU-rSTSOki7rS9rKjnZk9QLH/s320/DVC000024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168745895895740002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">As I hesitated and looked at the boxes, they continued with their exotic Russian accents in trying to persuade me with what they could give me for what price.<span style=""> </span>I did like the boxes and the Russian decorations and pictures on them, so they did catch my interest.<span style=""> </span>When I bargained with them, they said my price was too low and below their cost.<span style=""> </span>Then Jasson nudged me and said "Just walk away and they'll give in."<span style=""> </span>So I did but they still persisted at getting me to agree to their price for three boxes. Finally, I got tired of all this bargaining and re-bargained for a middle price and bought two boxes.<span style=""> </span>Jesús also bought one of the boxes himself.<span style=""> </span>Then we took pictures for each other with our cameras around the site and got back on the tour van.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-o_1p9XRtKfCqEnezk6uCzdv5RyBNNsZKd_LC88BML8K9ps-vViDAA3AwggHhTUR71gB2IVk0hju62bYy204AL_uGrYYmjo-Eyd1xDLCAD4BTUEe2Y_icAJP-vMVaQete91NsY8ZFsHj/s1600-h/DVC000029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-o_1p9XRtKfCqEnezk6uCzdv5RyBNNsZKd_LC88BML8K9ps-vViDAA3AwggHhTUR71gB2IVk0hju62bYy204AL_uGrYYmjo-Eyd1xDLCAD4BTUEe2Y_icAJP-vMVaQete91NsY8ZFsHj/s320/DVC000029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168745900190707314" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">(Above: Our female guide, Yana)<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The next stop was in front of the big massive cathedral structure called The Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ that you often see in photos and films of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city> with a canal leading to it.<span style=""> </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CCQbfct_ljWvCXtJk27rt45BtuHAvIq2LRvC1cUgTlhsI_k-2IWvJvwAhq2GSiwr9ngrcS0oGmTiUToY7CBWQfUCsY_WyBSlhD-XP0Sr_UqZIMz-BcdsGhsT2R2s0ACV5dkf_fX5D4Xy/s1600-h/DVC000028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CCQbfct_ljWvCXtJk27rt45BtuHAvIq2LRvC1cUgTlhsI_k-2IWvJvwAhq2GSiwr9ngrcS0oGmTiUToY7CBWQfUCsY_WyBSlhD-XP0Sr_UqZIMz-BcdsGhsT2R2s0ACV5dkf_fX5D4Xy/s320/DVC000028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168745913075609234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Just before we got out, the male driver said "Be careful of the gypsies."<span style=""> </span>I asked "Why?" and then got out when the van door opened.<span style=""> </span>Immediately, a dark gypsy girl who looked about 4 or 5 years old ran up to us and said "money, money" and even starting grabbing Jasson's arm while he was walking around. (See image of her below below from my camcorder footage)<br /><span style=""> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBUJu6wgsVNwbXlzSNsf9kQ0jlxftLmIfaTbebHC7fVTW7ZmtJg2aP6_Z64y6W8r-zzpsuEGwEaT85Vw-bnx4vRHmY173-_pkM3Ksl6PC2GgKAN7ptZSi5jkbwopO3IBZmcGRXqXtrQ4h/s1600-h/DVC000026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBUJu6wgsVNwbXlzSNsf9kQ0jlxftLmIfaTbebHC7fVTW7ZmtJg2aP6_Z64y6W8r-zzpsuEGwEaT85Vw-bnx4vRHmY173-_pkM3Ksl6PC2GgKAN7ptZSi5jkbwopO3IBZmcGRXqXtrQ4h/s320/DVC000026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168744611700518466" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">I noticed that the girl's parents were in the background sitting down while letting their daughter do this work.<span style=""> </span>The little girl looked like she hadn't had a bath in a long time too.<span style=""> </span>I felt bad for them.<span style=""> </span>I gave the little girl some rubles and then we walked around the giant cathedral.<span style=""> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Unfortunately, they wouldn't let us go inside for photos without paying admission, which was pointless since we had a short time limit on how long we could be there.<span style=""> </span>So we walked around the plaza and took pictures of the structure from outside.<span style=""> </span>(You can see these photos in my online photo album too.)<span style=""> </span>Along the courtyard, there was a girl playing wonderful serene music on her guitar.<span style=""> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuWzr1ZzbHORIHvtReaDtHk6Q4vpXfOjVKsUwnjbq7vDMXcGD3IOX9ZSRJ7qAIxZGJ19GO3iOjxSqpKxxmAQhEi6sNAdi-wU4U5QP9Yr1izCIXCyUwviwRMQd3ASJ1r6QhG3HJ_UHHdkOt/s1600-h/DVC000027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuWzr1ZzbHORIHvtReaDtHk6Q4vpXfOjVKsUwnjbq7vDMXcGD3IOX9ZSRJ7qAIxZGJ19GO3iOjxSqpKxxmAQhEi6sNAdi-wU4U5QP9Yr1izCIXCyUwviwRMQd3ASJ1r6QhG3HJ_UHHdkOt/s320/DVC000027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168745908780641922" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">We took photos with her and donated some money in her donation box.<span style=""> </span>I filmed her with my camcorder too, and amazingly if you watch the tape on any TV (even an old one) you will hear the sound from her guitar music coming out just like if it was coming from an acoustic wave radio.<span style=""> </span>I have no idea how it comes through so well.<span style=""> </span>We also got some snacks to eat too, and since I was a vegetarian, I got a potato sandwich.<span style=""> </span>Jesús also took a lot of footage with his camcorder, which was much newer then mine and had a much longer lasting battery, so he was able to take much longer shots than me!<span style=""> </span>After a while, the guides called us and we went back to the van.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZPmgBVGoGZWth2Y8Yft-NbQwBS2BfJ69BvbuvGtVq1fA_9xMizO-JxB4zHOvyr7bwZOtCRf7Qth0frLpSQxx3-7ISPwN1q3sRENTFd_Uk1HGN47jKKg9EC_5qYcYzX1fq5WqiVR6xuV2/s1600-h/RUSSIA4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZPmgBVGoGZWth2Y8Yft-NbQwBS2BfJ69BvbuvGtVq1fA_9xMizO-JxB4zHOvyr7bwZOtCRf7Qth0frLpSQxx3-7ISPwN1q3sRENTFd_Uk1HGN47jKKg9EC_5qYcYzX1fq5WqiVR6xuV2/s320/RUSSIA4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168744229448429106" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">We next stopped at a park alongside the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Neva</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place>'s edge.<span style=""> </span>It had a spacious view of the wide section of the river.<span style=""> </span>There was a post wedding tour going on there, and a lady in a wedding dress was riding on a horse there.<span style=""> </span>It was a lovely scene.<span style=""> </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqm8ngyR8P4m5wAdYhEBvGAGCdKAcA7ydg5dBEGyRo9h0BFfBb9p8Jw03o51DPSKLfHFBIEk9etR8gEiUsAe1WKk3GGgy84_B1ODkx0oylyb4AwyLVCwLwCYMOwwG1GhvIdcpkauZEHLH/s1600-h/DVC000032.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqm8ngyR8P4m5wAdYhEBvGAGCdKAcA7ydg5dBEGyRo9h0BFfBb9p8Jw03o51DPSKLfHFBIEk9etR8gEiUsAe1WKk3GGgy84_B1ODkx0oylyb4AwyLVCwLwCYMOwwG1GhvIdcpkauZEHLH/s320/DVC000032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168747223040634530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">After taking pictures for each other, I went to a souvenir stand nearby and bought a blue matroska doll, which is five wooden dollars in one with each progressively smaller doll inside the larger one.<span style=""> </span>Then we got back in the van and went in front of the famous <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Hermitage</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Winter</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Palace</st1:placetype> <st1:placetype st="on">Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place>, a gigantic palace that harbored a vast collection of art, paintings, scultures, relics, antiques, etc. from all over the world.<span style=""> </span>It used to be the palace of the Czar Peter the Great.<span style=""> </span>The courtyard between the buildings of the palace was huge, and I could visualize it once harboring an army of 10,000 soldiers easily.<span style=""> </span>I badly wanted to get a chance to go inside this palace.<span style=""> </span>It looked so massive and surreal.<span style=""> </span>Jesús talked to our tour guides and then said that they could drop us off here to go inside at the end of the tour.<span style=""> </span>"Awesome!" I thought.<span style=""> </span>Next we went to a location near the horseman statue carousel that is often shown in pictures and films of the city.<span style=""> </span>From there we could also see St. Isaac's Cathedral.<span style=""> </span>After taking some more photos, we headed back to the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Hermitage</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Winter</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Palace</st1:placetype></st1:place>, where our guided tour ended.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89WRQoRFe9-nl76YmUcj6xtybT8c8CS6Ya9cNj7_XnlwItH4HmaRrUC3FcByD3wu45NmQ1e89eXzcUM000TkHxKGGEdys4ar5BC8I4PAc9PRweiauDGG2B89EgrvRNtkYFvLZNBGnn32_/s1600-h/RUSSIA5.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89WRQoRFe9-nl76YmUcj6xtybT8c8CS6Ya9cNj7_XnlwItH4HmaRrUC3FcByD3wu45NmQ1e89eXzcUM000TkHxKGGEdys4ar5BC8I4PAc9PRweiauDGG2B89EgrvRNtkYFvLZNBGnn32_/s320/RUSSIA5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168745161456332370" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>WuMasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533298982880223872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067954817899235002.post-45112775048150762682002-07-17T02:21:00.000-07:002008-02-19T09:41:34.516-08:00Chapter 4: Taking care of business and further exploration of the city<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUpJSv47Pfma3u6q-_p_o90mtECKTQbHNkEpBzYrr1x7W2yJJ5BdFK5dRp4JomU9h42WjIIOLNRVhllu3ehcnsNtmcFtIeU696PVCrnlzIvE_7sW6r52GSX0vSJUA6_wc5OziNFsRTHi3/s1600-h/DVC000025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUpJSv47Pfma3u6q-_p_o90mtECKTQbHNkEpBzYrr1x7W2yJJ5BdFK5dRp4JomU9h42WjIIOLNRVhllu3ehcnsNtmcFtIeU696PVCrnlzIvE_7sW6r52GSX0vSJUA6_wc5OziNFsRTHi3/s320/DVC000025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160472355436385138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">July 17, 2002<br /><br /><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;">The next day, on Thursday, since Olga wasn't available that day, I decided to take care of some business.<span style=""> </span>I had to register my visa and also email people on my situation and ask for advice about Olga.<span style=""> </span>I tried using the hostel computer for email, but it was too slow and AOL's complicated website for checking email was too much for the old computer to handle.<span style=""> </span>After an hour of frustration, I gave up and talked to this Australian guy there who told me that the internet cafes in downtown were faster and cheaper too.<span style=""> </span>He said that he was headed there today and that I could come along.<span style=""> </span>After I got the directions from the hostel staff for the visa registration office, we left.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-size:12;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;">As we got down the metro station into the subway (thank goodness I didn't have to try to ride this hectic system alone yet!) he, David, explained to me that he had just finished several weeks of volunteering at as a Christian teacher and counselor for a summer camp for kids, and that he was spending his last week in Russia touring St. Petersburg.<span style=""> </span>He definitely was a nice kind-hearted chap for sure!<span style=""> </span>We got off at the same main metro station on Nevsky Prospect that Olga took me to the prior day.<span style=""> </span>The big inexpensive internet cafe we went to was just across the street from it, and it had air conditioning too!<span style=""> </span>Inside, I thanked him and we both sat at our computers.<span style=""> </span>AOL's site was still slow, but it was working at least.<span style=""> </span>I began sending a mass email to everyone on my list who was interested in what was going on with me, updated them and asked them for advice about Olga, saying that I had mixed feelings about her because although she expressed an interest in seeing me again, I didn't feel that we had great chemistry together.<span style=""> </span>But I said that I still wanted to try, because she was as hot as hell, and even looked a little like Britney Spears, and couldn't be any closer to my ideal physical type.<span style=""> </span>I knew I was sounding immature and shallow to tell everyone that, but I was telling it like it is!<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;">As I was finishing up checking my email, my computer was getting slow and taking very long to load every webpage.<span style=""> </span>So I glanced around and noticed a cute girl behind me who was also waiting for a website to load up.<span style=""> </span>Making small talk, I said "It's slow isn't it?" and to my surprise, she fluently answered "Yes, very much so."<span style=""> </span>Glad that she could speak English, I continued making small talk with her, and complimented her on her good English.<span style=""> </span>I learned that her name was Lilia, and that she was assisting a French student next to her by helping him with errands and showing him around the city.<span style=""> </span>As she was finishing up, I was enamoured that she was so friendly and open, so I asked her if she would be interested in getting together sometime to do something, and she said sure, so we exchanged phone numbers and emails.<span style=""> </span>(I gave my hostel number and home number)<span style=""> </span>Then David, the Australian guy, came up and said goodbye to me, and I thanked him for his help.<span style=""> </span>Then I waved goodbye to Lilia as well.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;">After I was done checking email, I took a long walk to the visa registration office, which was on Ligovsky Prospect, asking directions along the way.<span style=""> </span>As I neared the last block, the street suddenly became filled with rubble, concrete, construction equipment, bulldozers, dangerous holes, etc.<span style=""> </span>I wondered if I was in a restricted area, yet the crowd was continuing to walk through it.<span style=""> </span>I thought "This is unbelievable.<span style=""> </span>In the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>, an area under heavy construction like this would be restricted from the public due to safety laws, yet everyone here just walks right through it like it's a normal sidewalk!"<span style=""> </span>Carefully making my way along the street, I looked for the office by searching the numbers of each building, but I couldn't find it, so I went into a fast food place to ask about it.<span style=""> </span>They pointed me through an archway to a back alley, and I went up to the metal door, thinking "This is crazy.<span style=""> </span>Registering visas here for tourists is the law, and the place to do it at isn't even labeled well, and worst of all, you have to go into an alley off the street to find it.<span style=""> </span>Talk about making things convenient for tourists!"<span style=""> </span>I rang the bell and went up to a smoke filled office to register my visa.<span style=""> </span>I was disappointed to learn that I had to pay another $20 to register my visa, because I had already paid that fee to the travel agency GoToRussia.net, but apparently I found out that it would only apply for the <st1:city st="on">Moscow</st1:city> visa registration office, not the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city> one.<span style=""> </span>(I was originally going to register my visa at the Moscow airport when I transferred flights to St. Petersburg, but when I switched airlines to Luftansa for the reasons I mentioned in the Preparation, Plan and Strategy chapter, I went to St. Petersburg directly from Frankfurt, Germany instead.)<span style=""> </span>I reluctantly paid them, hoping I could get a refund from GoToRussia.net later (which I did).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-size:12;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;">On my way back, I stopped at a hip looking Starbucks-like place with a parrot on its signage called "Marko Cafe" to get some dessert because I was hungry.<span style=""> </span>Inside, I was taken aback by all the tall skinny hippish gorgeous girls there were inside.<span style=""> </span>"Wow", I thought, "This place looks so modern and these gorgeous city girls are all stylishly modern dressed.<span style=""> </span>The American media that made <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Russia</st1:country-region></st1:place> look primitive and backward was certainly wrong!"<span style=""> </span>The jello dessert I got was mediocre, but at least it was sweet.<span style=""> </span>Then I walked back to the metro station to head back to my hostel.<span style=""> </span>This would be the first time I would be riding it alone.<span style=""> </span>"Here goes nothing", I thought.<span style=""> </span>I paid the cashier at the window for my metro token and went down the escalator hoping that I wouldn't end up being lost for hours.<span style=""> </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgiLImK9NssCI87qcFSbRzfvz6Pw2O6XZ9fl5zf7vSXPNAsYUWvDlBRhBD_zhsUGKd7n7Ox3gFNG7ypf5_AkOPvDJ2HKDKVmE2_vmIEO6eXtvQHBrkszZrRTMCMttd_mGkNy_VF5E_KVL/s1600-h/DVC00093.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgiLImK9NssCI87qcFSbRzfvz6Pw2O6XZ9fl5zf7vSXPNAsYUWvDlBRhBD_zhsUGKd7n7Ox3gFNG7ypf5_AkOPvDJ2HKDKVmE2_vmIEO6eXtvQHBrkszZrRTMCMttd_mGkNy_VF5E_KVL/s320/DVC00093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160472364026319778" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkPwBmn5T-_byJtb1l0y7IOAu77bCm4A84HGNLBoyJFFJZrucDxhxXd5JD5vS095_p7sudBoe5nYw7g1RGfXaZ667_8nHa6slFP53_y9I6EW3qLFT9a-AmJ2T-OjjrkK6bTTcofatnyZD/s1600-h/DVC00096.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkPwBmn5T-_byJtb1l0y7IOAu77bCm4A84HGNLBoyJFFJZrucDxhxXd5JD5vS095_p7sudBoe5nYw7g1RGfXaZ667_8nHa6slFP53_y9I6EW3qLFT9a-AmJ2T-OjjrkK6bTTcofatnyZD/s320/DVC00096.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160472359731352466" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgACXoxxgaLPVM1YqPdNHXenoBRJfWAzWLE7iZT7dvaR3vMvydwilXxGjrnrIcF2USkRqb_06K0Ti9NbgLeOZIePC4jl9WLcwv3h76ZJ-Jf89ARfDbBwiOs-Uv8eauQ67Z-wvMxrlleqUnd/s1600-h/DVC00097.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgACXoxxgaLPVM1YqPdNHXenoBRJfWAzWLE7iZT7dvaR3vMvydwilXxGjrnrIcF2USkRqb_06K0Ti9NbgLeOZIePC4jl9WLcwv3h76ZJ-Jf89ARfDbBwiOs-Uv8eauQ67Z-wvMxrlleqUnd/s320/DVC00097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160472368321287090" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;">As I stood on the long descending escalator, I funnily noticed that some people would be rushing down the escalator passing you on the left side, but on the escalators going up, no one would be running up the long flight of stairs. lol<span style=""> </span>I guess at least gravity was constant here :)<span style=""> </span>I also noticed that many young couples were taking the time on the escalator to hold and kiss a lot.<span style=""> </span>I felt envious and thought "Those guys on the email list that said that Russians were uncomfortable with public displays of affection were sure wrong!"<span style=""> </span>When I got to the bottom of the platform, I realized that I now had to figure out which train on the right and left was going north.<span style=""> </span>I opened up the metro train map that was given to me by the hostel with my hostel station circled, and used it to ask for help from people.<span style=""> </span>I went up to people and pointed to the circled station on the map and asked them which of the two trains to take to go that way.<span style=""> </span>They gladly helped and showed me the right train.<span style=""> </span>Onboard, I did the same and asked people how many more stops to get to the circled station on my map.<span style=""> </span>They understood my question of "How many more stops?" when I signaled 1, 2, 3, and so on with my fingers.<span style=""> </span>I realized that I could just count the stops until my station by just looking on my map and counting the stops between the station I came from to the one at my destination.<span style=""> </span>When we arrived at my station, the people I asked to help me pointed to me that this was my stop.<span style=""> </span>I thanked them by saying "Spashiba" which is "thank you" in Russian and got out.<span style=""> </span>When I got up to the top of the escalator, I was relieved to recognize the interior of my local station :)<span style=""> </span>Whew!<span style=""> </span>I made it through safely on my first metro ride alone!<span style=""> </span>I got something to drink and relaxed and watched the sunset.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12;">Then I walked back to my hostel and relaxed, wondering about the approach I should take with Olga tomorrow.<span style=""> </span>I also ran into David the Australian again and told him about my day.<span style=""> </span>I then went up to the fourth floor of the hostel, where I heard there was a balcony where people there hung out at and drank at night.<span style=""> </span>Up there, I found some Dutch guys hanging out and celebrating their last day here.<span style=""> </span>I talked to them a bit and told them about Olga the day before, showing them video clips from my camcorder of Olga the day before.<span style=""> </span>I explained that although Olga was gorgeous and my ideal looking type, she had no personality or depth to her at all, and that I wasn't sure what to do with her next.<span style=""> </span>One of the guys told me that it didn't matter how a girl looked, because if no chemistry was there and she didn't treat you right, it wasn't worth "sh**".<span style=""> </span>He said that one girl he met in the bar the other night kept holding him and begging him to take her away with him back to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Holland</st1:place></st1:city>, but he brushed her off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>WuMasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533298982880223872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067954817899235002.post-90836881645594886232002-07-16T06:32:00.000-07:002008-01-17T05:17:59.953-08:00Chapter 3: Meeting with Olga<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSiiPvB3oWFoPHO0k8WJdODY_KX9c2VXCrc1g5X1tIph5HSrtpSssTnP1Q6tjiqQ7HoV4j0T53KdRhJg2L8SRrInkxIDVKrlk84dMJgierNDXdHIJz-eThWzGK5_T71qhcoXPGGnFCy6z/s1600-h/RUSSIA2.JPG"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153115249716056322" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSiiPvB3oWFoPHO0k8WJdODY_KX9c2VXCrc1g5X1tIph5HSrtpSssTnP1Q6tjiqQ7HoV4j0T53KdRhJg2L8SRrInkxIDVKrlk84dMJgierNDXdHIJz-eThWzGK5_T71qhcoXPGGnFCy6z/s320/RUSSIA2.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size:100%;">July 16, 2002</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">After waiting in front of the building for a while, I became anxious. I had talked to her for a long time by phone and email, and now we were going to meet. I was nervous about how it would turn out. I always felt that she was kind of one dimensional and not much substance to her, based on our phone conversations, but I didn't really care because she was my physical type and she expressed interest and attraction to me, which were all that mattered to me now, since women that are my type in the USA do not tend to even acknowledge my existence. Therefore, anything above that would interest me. (You can see her photo and profile that I first saw at this link, but keep in mind that in person she looks way better: <a href="http://www.russianfriendfinder.net/showa.shtml?id=679">http://www.russianfriendfinder.net/showa.shtml?id=679</a>)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As I waited, I became more anxious that I was in the wrong place, so I went up to a guy nearby sitting down and pantomimed to him that I was waiting for a friend, and asked him if he could call her for me. He agreed to and I gave him the number to call. He called her and spoke some Russian and then hung up and told me that she was already on her way and that I was in the right place. I kept pacing back and forth thinking "This is it." Finally, she ran up the stairs to the plaza and blew me away! She was blonde, tan and gorgeous. Much more than I expected from her photos! She looked like a bombshell. I thought "Oh my gosh!" and went up to her and gave her a hug. I think I kissed her cheek too, if I remember. Then I asked the guy who called her for me to take our picture and he did, which is how I got the picture with her in the photo album. (She looked way hotter in person than in that photo though.) </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">I pointed to the theatre and asked her "You don't live there do you?" and she said "No of course not. I decided to meet here because the taxi driver would know it better than if you had given him my address." Then after some small talk, she suggested we go to a cafe, so we went. </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As we walked through the streets and the crowd, I kept thinking how flabbergasted I was at her appearance. Usually a hot blonde would never give me the time of day, now I was going somewhere with one! To me, this was a historical moment, like the breaking of a world record. (I know that sounds cheesy and geeky, but that's how I really felt!) I felt like all the other guys looking at me now were envious, wondering why she was with me. I felt a high from that because such a moment is so rare back in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She pointed out to me the school that she taught at, which looked really old, and then we stopped at the entrance to her apartment building. She told me to wait there for her, while she takes the roses and gift I brought for her (some perfume from JC Penney) and puts it away in her flat. (their term for "apartment") I was hoping she wasn't about to ditch me! She came back down after a short while and we continued walking. I felt like we were running out of things to say, so I kept looking around for things to comment on. </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Finally we reached the cafe. It was very nice inside, like a Valentine treat in red colors, for a romantic setting. When I saw the menus, I was glad that there was an English section too. The items seemed very tasty and were named with romantic sexy overtones. This was obviously a lover's cafe. I wondered if she was implying anything by bringing me here :) After we ordered some desserts and pancakes, we started making small talk and getting to know each other. I did not feel we really had much to talk about, and I had mixed feelings about the chemistry we were having. But I thought "Well she's so hot, it doesn't matter! I guess I'll try my best to get along with her and produce chemistry. I mean, man it's worth it. If I could ever bring a girl like this back to the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>, it would be a prize/trophy that would be bigger than winning the Nobel Prize!" What a thought! Finally, our food came and it was very tasty. It was also easy to enjoy since the prices were pretty cheap too. After we were done, we ordered some more and more. Since the quantity of the dishes were small, it was easy to eat a lot of them. They were very tasty and good, like French dessert cuisine. I offered to share some of what I ordered with Olga, but she refused. When I asked her if I could try what she had, she reluctantly agreed. Not exactly a very giving or sharing person, I thought. I wondered if that was a bad sign. Something was strange about her. She didn't seem all there. She spoke decent English though. When she didn't understand me, she took out her English-Russian electronic dictionary (that thing was very fancy!) to look it up. After we were done, I paid for the check and we left. All of what we ordered was only 500 rubbles, which was about 17 dollars, wow! </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">After the cafe, we went shopping for a bit and she gave me a walking tour of some of the area. Then we headed for an internet cafe that she knew of, so she could check her email. The one she usually went to to write me back was closed, so we looked for another one. Finally we found it. It was very hot inside and humid, and the fan barely helped. As she checked her email, I tried to get on the computer to check mine too. When I looked at the Windows screen, I noticed that all of the words and menus were in Russian. "Great" I thought. I managed to find a way to switch to English though. However, I could not check my AOL email because their browser would not load up AOL Anywhere, which probably was too intricate for their browser. So I went to my Yahoo email instead and wrote emailed my parents to tell them that I had arrived safely. After I was done, I went over to Olga to show her how to search for things on the internet. As I was looking over her shoulder, I kissed her on the cheek and she blushed and giggled. Then I asked if she wanted a massage and she said ok so I massaged her for a while. For some reason, her skin did not feel as good as it looked. There seemed to be something fake about her. I can't explain it, but maybe it was the way her makeup was put on or something, and she obviously had a lot on. </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">After Olga was done, we went out and found a park bench to sit at. As we talked, I kind of felt like we ran out of things to say, so I kept trying to look for more things to comment on. She seemed pretty dense alright. Then I showed her some footage from my camcorder of the sights I filmed so far, and then I took some footage of her sitting on the bench.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7MBDzQeOiPt2eTcOPx9IZvM4Cmb4WoBhuQvhmzd9VbmcyAsfRR_Lw_8ejrfKE_FWz-ES1xxqiCuVrrswX31dPQGOJDlfhtqS5BwHE-vToSRoQn7YcUz7Qrw1b0-U674oqWFd15BudLGD/s1600-h/DVC000016.JPG"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153116430832062754" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7MBDzQeOiPt2eTcOPx9IZvM4Cmb4WoBhuQvhmzd9VbmcyAsfRR_Lw_8ejrfKE_FWz-ES1xxqiCuVrrswX31dPQGOJDlfhtqS5BwHE-vToSRoQn7YcUz7Qrw1b0-U674oqWFd15BudLGD/s320/DVC000016.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">After a while, we got up and she said that she had to meet a friend at 6pm to help her pick out something for two hours, and that I could come with her, but she would have to leave me somewhere for two hours and meet up with me later. I agreed so we went down to the nearest metro station to go to the downtown area. I paid five rubles for the metro token, then descended this incredibly long escalator down this tunnel. It looked surreal in a way. There were so many people constantly heading down and up. You never know who you could run into here! When we got to the bottom, I followed her into the subway which was also very crowded. The signs at each stop and the announcement over the subway intercom were all in Russian. Like my tour book said, they consider it your duty to learn their language here. We got off at the huge metro station on Nevsky Prospect, the biggest street downtown, with shops and billboards inside, including a gigantic screen with advertisements and promotions running on it, with various networks of escalators going in all directions. If it wasn't for Olga, this would be like a gigantic maze to me, and I'd be lost among all the non-English signs. We both got some soft drinks while we waited for her friend, under the big promo screen. When her brunette friend finally showed up, she introduced us but I thought her smile was kind of strange. Then Olga told me to meet them back here under the big promo screen of the metro station in two hours. She showed me where I could take a walking tour of shops and cathedrals in the meantime, so I waved goodbye and set about exploring the area by myself. </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As I walked the other direction I couldn't believe how crowded it was, and also how fast everyone was walking. It didn't look like everyone was in a hurry either, it just looked like their normal pace. I just kept on walking forward, making sure to stay on the same street, and let the moment guide me. After a few blocks, I came to a huge dark brown cathedral on my left, with a big fountain park in front of it. (I now know it as <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Kazansky</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Church</st1:placetype></st1:place>, or The Cathedral of the Mother of God) </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8e_VN1qwGLM6581dNEsQsUsi5YdyceF_4rxpE38AWPRWcBNyj-4XArBkY2N3bAXLBV0FFjBcZ3jk29hg3yGGYpg6T14AugfzmYJykfdYpniODpZHOZwMO-k02v8wISALEa60xQpkbkID/s1600-h/RUSSIA3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8e_VN1qwGLM6581dNEsQsUsi5YdyceF_4rxpE38AWPRWcBNyj-4XArBkY2N3bAXLBV0FFjBcZ3jk29hg3yGGYpg6T14AugfzmYJykfdYpniODpZHOZwMO-k02v8wISALEa60xQpkbkID/s320/RUSSIA3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156433704657703522" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">After I strolled around the fountain park, doing some people watching, I walked up to the entrance of the cathedral, hoping that it was free to get in. No one was taking tickets at the door, so I just walked in. Inside was a magnificent display of Christian art, paintings, colored glass, etc. It was also nice to be out of the heat too. I assumed that it was a Russian Orthodox Church. There was a ceremony going on in there, and a priest was at the podium reading something in Latin, while the people gathered in front were repeating back what he said. I toured around and took some pictures. You can see these pictures in my online photo album. Suddenly, a staff person came up to me and pointed to my camera and waved his fingers in a "no" fashion. I got the message and put my camera away. I found a curb along the wall to sit on to take a rest and marvel at the interior of this building, and the exotic Latin chants and songs I was hearing in the background. As the ceremony progressed, the group of priests started walking around, followed by the crowd. When I took out my soda bottle to drink, another staff person pointed at me and waved a "no" again. I felt embarrased and put it away in my backpack. After a while, I got up and headed back outside into the heat again. </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">As I looked around the crowds of seated people, I saw a little short blonde girl sitting by herself on the curb, so I sat near her to try to strike up a conversation. As I took out my Russian phrase book, I talked to her to see if she could speak English and asked her some questions about the cathedral. She didn't understand me, but she looked intrigued by me. So I continued and pointed to phrases in the Russian phrasebook to try to communicate with her. It was very difficult, even to just make small talk. All I could figure out was that her name was Natasha and that she was 19 and lived in the outskirts of this city. Since she looked curious and intrigued by me, I continued, even though we weren't getting anywhere, but it was amusing to try. Apparently, she showed the same patience toward me. We both spent a lot of time sifting through my dictionaries and phrase books to try to talk to each other. All I could gather about what she was doing there was waiting for her brother, which I wasn't even sure I understood correctly. lol After a while, I looked at my watch and realized that it was almost time for me to go back to meet Olga and her friend again. I signaled to her that I had to go back to the metro station, and she got up and said that she was going to go there as well, so we started walking back together. I asked her "But aren't you waiting for your brother?" but she didn't understand. As we walked along the sidewalk together, she asked me if I had a photo to give her. Puzzled since no one I just met had ever asked me that before, I said "Why would you need a photo of me if you already know what I look like?" Was she that fond of me already, I wondered? She didn't understand my question, so I said "No I don't have any photos with me, (I always carry photos of me in case someone asks for them. Right. lol <sarcastic>) but I can email you some. Ok?" She nodded, and I asked her if I could get her telephone number and email, which she understood because they use the same words for those things in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She nodded but signaled that she had nothing to write with. Well neither did I, but I had paper so I took it out and attempted to stop a passing pedestrian to ask to borrow a pen. The first few people I asked didn't understand me, so they just continued walking on. I wasn't sure if it was normal here to ask for help from strangers, so I felt a bit embarrassed, hoping I wasn't making a fool out of myself. As I looked for someone friendly to ask for a pen, I suddenly realized how cute this scene was. Here was a little blonde girl who looked sweet and innocent standing in front of me looking intrigued and waiting for my next move, while hordes of people rushed by us like race cars. It was such a cute scene!!! Finally, a lady stopped to let us borrow her pen, and we exchanged phone numbers and emails on pieces of paper. Afterward, she motioned that it was better to write her rather than telephone her, since she could understand written English better than spoken English. Then she pointed across the street and indicated that the metro station there was closer, and to follow her. I said "No, I'm headed to the other station this way, because I have to meet my friend Olga there." I wasn't sure if she understood me, so I opened up my dictionary and pointed to the word "rendezvous" to her, and then pointed at myself and toward the metro station I was headed to. I wasn't sure if she understood me or not, but we waved goodbye to each other anyway. (To this day, she has written me some emails and surprised me because she is able to write decent English by email even though in person she could hardly speak any!)</sarcastic></span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">When I got back to the big promo screen at the main metro station, Olga and her friend showed up only minutes later. She introduced us and said her friend's name was "Nata". They decided to take me back to the area where my hostel was and get something to eat in that area. I followed them along while Olga's friend kept asking me questions about me and <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, due to her curiosity with foreigners. I wondered if she was interested in me or not, but it didn't matter because Olga was way hotter. On the subway, Olga explained to me that I needed to start learning how to ride the metro because she couldn't always be with me on it. I said ok, but asked how I would know which direction the train was going and when to stop. Her answer was very vague and she basically said to just do it. Not exactly very helpful. </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">When we got off at my station, which was called Ploschad Lenina, Olga's friend Nata took us to an eatery with a singer/keyboard player inside. We ordered some food and sat down. The music was very good. I took out my camera and set it on an adjacent table and filmed some footage of all three of us.<br /></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygHwYIxJcMiPmibPyrc4XfzzBN3LcsQv-qxdkf82XHGtzRPuDrkgUEu7103MmrP1IKDS_jcMSKru8_T_KSkUhpXgmfs4JoE71-WYYtDqH4TarjUKMUMm48VBYm3c3jMcGvYhYLrKGqVdz/s1600-h/DVC000017.JPG"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153116031400104210" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygHwYIxJcMiPmibPyrc4XfzzBN3LcsQv-qxdkf82XHGtzRPuDrkgUEu7103MmrP1IKDS_jcMSKru8_T_KSkUhpXgmfs4JoE71-WYYtDqH4TarjUKMUMm48VBYm3c3jMcGvYhYLrKGqVdz/s320/DVC000017.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">When the keyboard player sang a soft romantic song, Nata asked me if I wanted to dance, but I said "My dancing is very bad." I then asked Olga if she wanted to dance, but she said that this wasn't the right place to do it. At the end of our meal, Olga finished her bottle of mineral water and asked if I could get her another one. I said "sure" and took her empty bottle, brought it to the cashier, gave them the empty bottle and said "one more" while making the "one" signal with my index finger. They took out a bottle from the fridge with a different color wrapper on it, and I asked "Are you sure it's the same kind?" and they nodded "Yes" so I paid 20 rubles for it. When we opened the new bottle and tasted it, we found that it was mineral water with gas in it, like a Club Soda. Yuck! I took it back with an American consumer complaint on my face, and said "This is the wrong one. I wanted water with NO gas!" So they gave me another one without gas in it. I assumed they were fixing their mistake so I took it without paying for it. After Olga and I shared it and finished it up, we were about to leave when the cashier said something to me. Olga said that they wanted me to pay for the extra bottle of water. I told Olga that they made a mistake in giving us the wrong kind of mineral water, and that I shouldn't have to pay for it. She translated it to them and told me "They don't want to pay for the extra water bottle." to which I replied "Well I don't want to have to pay for their mistake either! I gave them the exact bottle that I wanted another one of, so they should have known!" But Olga said that things didn't work that way here in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, so I gave in and gave them another 20 rubles. </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">When we got outside, Olga explained to me that this was Russia, not America, and that here if they mess up your order, even if it's their fault, you still have to pay for it. That's the custom here, and that the exception to it was if you went to a fancy expensive restaurant. I shook my head and said "I still don't think that's right" to which she replied "It doesn't matter what you think. No one cares what you think here. You have to follow the customs here." When we got back to my local metro station, it was about 9pm now even though it was still bright daylight. I asked if Olga wanted to come to the hostel with me so I could introduce her to everyone and open the bottle of wine with her. She replied "But you told me that your room isn't very nice" and at that point, I kind of regretted staying in a hostel, but oh well, if she really liked me, it shouldn't matter. Then Olga told me that she would be busy all day and night tomorrow, Thursday, with her teaching job and babysitting job, and that I should call her Friday morning so we could plan to get together again. I said ok and thanked her for the meeting. I gave her a goodbye hug and moved in to kiss her, and she turned her cheek to me. After kissing her cheek, I pointed to my lips, and she blushed and shook her head, and then waved me goodbye. As she was about to leave, I suddenly said "Olga, wait. I have a question. Do you still like me after today?" because I didn't want to be guessing all night whether things would go anywhere from here. She smiled and said "Yes, why not?" and left. I had no idea if that was genuine or not. Back at the hostel, I told the Europeans hanging out there about my day, how hot Olga was and how I was on a high to be around her. I even showed them video clips from my camcorder and they all agreed that she was hot alright. <o:p></o:p></span></p>WuMasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533298982880223872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067954817899235002.post-35998113454112163362002-07-16T04:37:00.000-07:002008-02-19T09:42:30.112-08:00Chapter 2: Getting acquainted in a strange foreign land<b>July 16, 2002</b><br /><br />The next morning, I woke up early. (being in a new place always makes me wake up early) I still couldn't believe I was in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, the land of the forbidden. "Wow!" I thought. I looked out my window and marveled at it all, even though there was just a street alley outside. I watched as many well dressed people walked through that alley, all with stoic faces. I wondered if they were happy or not. I went to the shower/bathroom and took a shower and brushed my teeth. Along the way, I said good morning to all the other hostel guests, which were all smiley and friendly. It was a cultural mix alright, there were people from everywhere. <o:p></o:p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadWYkgCtDtTFy_Gvz60fnkwUfxX8_CiRmewL_fIbeHWamk6Jg8J97aoWm6yMqoz2lKh1KbV_uQt1LkO_QuXszNA1BRLskLzAHMvVE6hckXRD8RRm7S51D2SntZnU9ToZ2vAQh3YBaOsqT/s1600-h/DVC000023.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156060957330985538" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadWYkgCtDtTFy_Gvz60fnkwUfxX8_CiRmewL_fIbeHWamk6Jg8J97aoWm6yMqoz2lKh1KbV_uQt1LkO_QuXszNA1BRLskLzAHMvVE6hckXRD8RRm7S51D2SntZnU9ToZ2vAQh3YBaOsqT/s320/DVC000023.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />When I went to the cafeteria for breakfast, there was a tall skinny gorgeous brunette serving the free included meals.<br /><br />She looked apathetic and robotic, like someone doing a mindless chore. I tried to make small talk with her to try to learn what Russian girls were like, but she spoke no English. I sat down at an available table and ate. It actually wasn't too bad.<br /><br />After I was finished, three young girls came in and sat at my table. I said hi to them and when they greeted me, I noticed that they had American accents. It turned out that they were all from the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It was nice to hear some familiarity in a foreign land. As I explained to them that I just arrived and was new to everything, they told me that they were actually near the end of their year long trip. I was surprised, since all three of them looked young enough to just be out of high school. They told me that they had just spent most of the year in a rural area of Eastern Siberia, along the east coast of <st1:country-region st="on">Russia</st1:country-region> facing <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>. They had just finished their term of service (as to what, I don't really remember) and rode the famous Trans-Siberian Railway across Siberia to visit European Russia and St. Petersburg, and were leaving tomorrow to go back home. As I explained to them the purpose of my trip here, I tried to withhold telling them about my dissatisfaction with American women back home, for obvious reasons. :) <o:p></o:p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">After breakfast, I went to the reception lobby and told them that I needed to find a bank to exchange money in and find where the nearest metro station was as well. They gave me a free map and circled where they both were, but the marks were ambiguous. I decided that I'll just go take a walk and probably find it somehow and ask for directions if I needed to. With nervousness and excitement, I walked out the front door to see <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city> in daylight for the first time! I felt intrigued as I realized that I was now in a public part of a non-English speaking world. It would be an exciting challenge at least, I thought. As I looked at the street in front of me, I noticed how small and European-looking the cars were, and how some of them looked poorly maintained as well. I began walking in the right direction down the block, and noticed how attractive and well dressed the girls here were. And almost all of them were thin too, hardly any were overweight. I also noticed that the dress styles of the girls here were unique and individualistic. Unlike American girls who dressed according to a common or trendy norm with narrow variations, in comparison each girl here dressed according to her own individual style, even if that style was odd or exotic looking. There was much more variety and artistic flair in their dress style. Well I wasn't sure where I was going, so I decided to ask for directions, and used this as an opportunity to try to talk to some of the girls here. Remembering all the talk on the email list from the guys about how the women here were as easy to pick up as flies, I stopped some of the girls passing by and said "English?" and they said a quick "No" and walked on by. "Gee", I thought, "thanks for the effort." <o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4d8wLJXUY3AM06X-xTUGuod5zCQWAgp46TpJBb0JKboHqHBzI-HK0_22EIsyi7PqR-c_XOUgQLEQL9hgYatvnotT5ANEqQW-N0Xz838yo7tONtiCmBxmMJsemKiu-6J1sjfb_UkUt02uw/s1600-h/RUSSIA1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4d8wLJXUY3AM06X-xTUGuod5zCQWAgp46TpJBb0JKboHqHBzI-HK0_22EIsyi7PqR-c_XOUgQLEQL9hgYatvnotT5ANEqQW-N0Xz838yo7tONtiCmBxmMJsemKiu-6J1sjfb_UkUt02uw/s320/RUSSIA1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156432106929869394" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">I didn't want to wander around aimlessly, so I decided to turn around back to the hostel and as I did, I took some photos of the area. When I got back to the hostel entrance, I met some other American tourists and explained where I was going to them. They offered to help me find the bank and metro station if I followed them, so I did. As we walked, they told me that their passport had been pickpocketed recently and that they were in a mess trying to get a new one. I told them that I was lucky to have a passport protector belt around my torso under my shirt, which I now realized would come in handy. We made a right turn and walked toward the big metro station. There was a small street in front, but it was difficult to cross it because the drivers were storming by there and not stopping for the pedestrians. It looked pretty dangerous, and even more so when I saw how close they were zooming by the pedestrians, who did not have the slightest look of danger on their faces. Such a low marin of error, I thought, but it all seemed normal to them and no one seemed to get hit, even if lots of cars zoomed by them within inches while they were standing in the middle of the street. "Like I said" I thought "this is a different world." When we got inside the metro station, I noticed how people rushed in and out of the gates, like they were in a big hurry. They did not seem anxious or aggressive either. The rush was like a natural thoughtless flow that was normal to them. A few times I felt as if I was going to be run over. The American couple waved me goodbye and pointed to me where the bank was. I walked out and noticed a lower side into the station building. Inside was a huge waiting area with ticket windows and a gigantic schedule on the wall. I saw some people sitting in the waiting area including a tall skinny tanned gorgeous blonde who was an absolute knockout. "Now's my chance to meet some of the women here" I thought. I would use the asking directions to the bank as a conversation opener. When I talked to her, she didn't speak English but pointed in the direction of the bank. I thanked her and was about to leave when I turned back around and asked if I could get her telephone number and call her sometime. She politely said "No. Please no." I hoped to find some women soon who were interested in me, I thought. <o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>I left the station and looked for the bank, but couldn't find it. None of the signs were in English so I couldn't use any clues to help me. So I took one of my Russian phrase books out of my backback and looked up the phrase "Where is the bank?" with the corresponding Russian sentence beneath it. I showed it to some pedestrians and they tried pointing me in the right direction along with Russian words I couldn't understand. However, there were just too many businesses and doors on every street that it was hard for me to find it from just from a finger point. As I got closer and closer, eventually someone pointed to the exact entrance, so I went in and exchanged 100 dollars there, which equaled about 3200 rubbles.<o:p></o:p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Afterward, I walked back to the hostel to call Olga to see what time and where she wanted to meet. I bought a prepaid calling card from the hostel reception and made the call. One of the first things I learned about public calling in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, from looking at the screen that deducted your credits, was that even if no one answers the phone while it's ringing, you still get credits deducted from your card! Like I already said, this is a different world! I called Olga and she told me to meet her at a public place near her home, that was across the bridge on another side of the city. I dared not ride the metro alone to try to find it since I couldn't even read the signs there, so I elected to take a taxi. I had a Russian staff person nearby talk to Olga and write down the name of the place to meet her at in Russian, so I could show the taxi driver. Then I went to the nearest metro station to buy some flowers to give Olga. As I was trying to cross the street to the metro station, I ran into the three Americans girls that I met earlier that morning during breakfast. I explained to them what I was doing, and they recommended that if I wanted to save money, I could hold out my hand with my palm face down and hail a gypsy cab, which is a private unmarked taxi cab driven by a person working for himself and not a company. I said "Are you crazy? That's dangerous! I could get mugged if I just got into any unmarked car that stopped!", to which they replied "Oh no. Here it is safe to do that. We have been doing it all year, and saved a lot of money doing it too. Trust us. It's the norm here." I replied "Well I'll think about it. I just arrived in this country and I'm not ready to be taking chances just yet." so I waved goodbye to them and wished them a safe journey home since it was their last day. I bought some roses at the flower stand outside the station. I remembered to get an odd number of flowers, since in Russian custom, even numbered roses were used at funerals. So I got three roses wrapped up and paid for it. It was sure cheap compared to the rates I'm used to back home. I walked back to the hostel and had the receptionist call for a taxi because if the driver didn't understand me, I could have the English speaking hostel staff help interpret. After ten minutes, the taxi pulled up behind the hostel, and I opened the door, leaned in and showed him the address written down. He nodded and then I took out my phrase book and pointed at the phrase "How much will this cost?" to him. He wrote down about 150 rubbles, which was about 5 dollars, but I managed to bargain down the price to about 100 rubbles. So I got in and he took me for a ride. <o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>He drove pretty aggressively just like the first taxi driver that brought me to the hostel the night before. It looked very dangerous and a couple of times it seemed like we were inches from hitting other cars. I enjoyed the view though. There were lots of people everywhere, and well dressed too. The sights looked very historic and cultured, like part of a rich past and heritage. We finally drove across a long stretch of lawn with lots of festivities going on, games, mini-carnivals, little rides, etc. It was crowded. Finally, we stopped in front of a big building that looked like a theatre. I thought "This doesn't look like an apartment complex." and then I showed him the address and said "Are you sure?" and he said nodded and said that was it. So I got out and paid him for the ride. <o:p></o:p>WuMasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533298982880223872noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067954817899235002.post-80743481866447798032002-07-15T03:51:00.000-07:002008-01-17T05:07:25.371-08:00Chapter 1: The departure, flight and arrival in Russia<o:p></o:p><div><o:p></o:p><b>July 15, 2002<br /></b><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><b>First Week: The Wonders of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city></b><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br />As the weeks approached the departure date for my trip, I felt more and more nervous. I knew this was a venture into the unknown, and that anything could happen. The uncertainty of it all made me feel anxious, especially since I was going to be in a foreign country where all the rules I knew didn't apply. I started packing a week before my departure. The day before my departure, I spent the whole day packing. It ended up taking much longer than I thought, since I kept looking to see what I missed. In fact, it took up the whole night til dawn, so I did not even get any sleep before the flight. The next morning, my parents drove me to the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Seattle</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Airport</st1:placetype></st1:place>. I was to fly to <st1:city st="on">Chicago</st1:city> first on United, then transfer planes and take Luftansa to <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Frankfurt</st1:city>, <st1:country-region st="on">Germany</st1:country-region></st1:place>. From there, I would transfer to another Luftansa plane and head to <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:city>, <st1:country-region st="on">Russia</st1:country-region></st1:place>. <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>During the flight to <st1:city st="on">Chicago</st1:city>, I became so nervous that I kept asking myself "I can't believe I'm really going to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region> for real! What am I doing? Am I crazy? This is so unorthodox. I'm going to a foreign unknown country where anything can happen! It's a voyage into the unknown, and I'll have to trust and hope that a higher power will be watching over me!" Still, I kept wondering if all this was a big mistake. I knew it wasn't and that I had made the right decision, but human nature and the fear of the unknown kept putting these doubts in me. I tried to keep myself occupied by reading my travel guide most of the time. Near the end of the flight, as I went to the bathroom, I noticed a sexy young white girl that was all arms and legs sitting my herself. After mustering much courage, I sat next to her and asked if I could sit here and hang out, and she said "sure". I tried to make conversation, but after a while, she asked me to leave and I did so, thinking "I'm glad I'll be getting away from these snotty prudish American girls." <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>At <st1:city st="on">Chicago</st1:city>'s <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Ohara</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Airport</st1:placetype></st1:place>, I had a few hours layover, so I went to eat at a Mexican grill place in the airport, and chatted with an American businessman there who was transferring to the same flight as me. He was on his way to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Germany</st1:place></st1:country-region> again after returning from there a few days ago, because of a business emergency that came up. We talked until the time came to get on the Luftansa flight to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Germany</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Since this was a long distance across the Atlantic flight, it was a big 747 plane. Onboard, I marveled at how clean and luxurious looking the interior of the plane was. It was much better than any American or Asian 747 airline jet I had ever been on.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2pSPKazuiScCNeyQyEd6jOMZZr9NPiI4IJXFCdrQWetmGPluSbRQq0_hyaXaIRQckwWbtZXtBBwg66YxktVqMuNKJbRKT9jmu1agko763C7cyWu3g-R1s6atIHpyVCNfoj6qKWZ-FhaN/s1600-h/DVC000003.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156060265841250738" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2pSPKazuiScCNeyQyEd6jOMZZr9NPiI4IJXFCdrQWetmGPluSbRQq0_hyaXaIRQckwWbtZXtBBwg66YxktVqMuNKJbRKT9jmu1agko763C7cyWu3g-R1s6atIHpyVCNfoj6qKWZ-FhaN/s320/DVC000003.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">I noticed that almost everyone on the plane was German. It appeared that I was the only one there who would be transferring to go to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Not surprising I guess, given the number of flights going there. Oh well, I'm sure I would find some Russian people to talk to on the flight from <st1:country-region st="on">Germany</st1:country-region> to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The meals they served on this plane were also much better than any airline food I had before. But most of my thoughts were preoccupied. I couldn't stop thinking about what a big step this was, and I kept feeling nervous when I realized that I had absolutely no idea what lay in store for me the next six weeks. <o:p></o:p></p><br />During the flight, I talked to a nice German girl next to me who was on her way back to <st1:country-region st="on">Germany</st1:country-region> after spending a year as a foreign exchange student in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Texas</st1:place></st1:state>.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mQYISfvXnkCuW-skmDRB_q4NOsON_yr9xRiZjIQjqI1uP6yD6nXp6b4iCvMXsIpUEhXXU8QSyTQzS7YOt7WkAkilv3nOMnOpftk3d5JaWYMdyLgi4PwmeApYcbEa82lu9iFpN_bzvF0W/s1600-h/DVC000001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156060261546283426" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mQYISfvXnkCuW-skmDRB_q4NOsON_yr9xRiZjIQjqI1uP6yD6nXp6b4iCvMXsIpUEhXXU8QSyTQzS7YOt7WkAkilv3nOMnOpftk3d5JaWYMdyLgi4PwmeApYcbEa82lu9iFpN_bzvF0W/s320/DVC000001.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">While I was talking to her, I thought "Wow these European girls sure have intelligent and substantive things to say. Their words reflect an inner life that is well developed and sophisticated, and without snobbiness or attitude. If this were an American girl, we would have ran out of things to say after 5 minutes, with nothing left to say except 'yeah' and 'cool'. This is neat. I hope the girls in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region> are like this too." <o:p></o:p></p><br />After the inflight movie, the lights were dimmed and the window shutters were pulled down. It was sleep time. Now was my chance to catch up on some sleep that I missed the night before while packing. It seemed like I woke up many times and tossed and turned. Sleeping on planes is so hard. I don't know how people do it. When I woke up after who knows how many hours, the onboard TV screen showed a map that indicated that we were above <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_N97Lx7IdD1-ajQFCvh7d0qcA1CN2DpQNE2bUtMrp6m-QHknwOtuZdJwmbxnnhVsKcU8S3Oto4PW69RGYzC9n1f1DsDKIA7UYQnqkZEpwfBSZeI0lLLzKajsDnGjDVLcIaPczDhTjYiR/s1600-h/DVC000004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156060265841250754" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_N97Lx7IdD1-ajQFCvh7d0qcA1CN2DpQNE2bUtMrp6m-QHknwOtuZdJwmbxnnhVsKcU8S3Oto4PW69RGYzC9n1f1DsDKIA7UYQnqkZEpwfBSZeI0lLLzKajsDnGjDVLcIaPczDhTjYiR/s320/DVC000004.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />When we arrived in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Frankfurt</st1:city>, <st1:country-region st="on">Germany</st1:country-region></st1:place>, I had a five hour layover, so I walked around and shopped. It was a fancy looking airport, and I was enamored at the mix of so many people from around the world at that airport. Apparently, this was a big transfer airport, just like <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Chicago</st1:place></st1:city> was. Unfortunately, the people working at the airport shops didn't seem that friendly. "Oh well" I thought. "This isn't <st1:country-region st="on">America</st1:country-region>, and so I guess I can't expect the fake clicheish customer service smile that is mandated back in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>." I bought a few postcards of <st1:place st="on">Frankfurt</st1:place> to send some people. When I sat down at a coffee/espresso cafe to write on them, I sensed lots of smoke around me. "Wait a second." I thought, "Smoking is allowed in this airport?" As I glanced around, I noticed that every single person in the cafe was smoking, except me. I guess Europeans love to smoke. Oh well. While I was writing on the postcard, a group of Dutch tourists sat in the table next to me (yes they were tall) and starting making small talk with me. It was refreshing to finally run into some friendly people at this airport. It turned out that they were on their way back to <st1:city st="on">Holland</st1:city> after visiting <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Near the end of the five hour layover, I approached the gate to my next flight, and I sat down. An Egyptian girl next to me told me that there was an underground metro station below this airport, and that I could have taken the subway into the city of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Frankfurt</st1:place></st1:city> to look around. It was too bad I didn't learn this before, because that would have been fun, but now the time left was too short, and I'd hate to go and risk getting lost too. At the terminal to my next flight, I finally noticed some Russian people in the waiting area. Now I can mingle and talk about my trip! One of my immediate concerns was how to get from the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city> airport to the hostel I had reservations at. I had heard from the email list that the taxis at the airport are mafia-run and will charge you as high as $30 to $50 to take you somewhere, compared to the normal rate of $2 to $3, and it is best to avoid them if possible. I would gladly do so, but the problem is that since my flight arrives in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city> at 11pm, the buses and metro system would be closed by the time I got through customs! Therefore, I had no choice but to use the mafia-run taxis! To avoid this, I thought I might find some people on the flight to split a taxi cost with. So I started asking around, but I found that almost all the people there were part of a tour and would be taking a tour bus at the airport. Later on, I met a Russian woman and a tall Asian guy who was from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city>. They were both being picked up by people, so I could not share a ride with them, but they suggested that I call for a city taxi when I got to the airport. However, neither of them were sure whether there were any pay phones at the airport, and they weren't sure if I could even exchange my cash into Russian rubles there either because the exchange center might be closed when we arrived too! So the Russian woman offered to make a call for me to a taxi service on her mobile phone (what we in the states call a "cell phone") when we got to the airport. As we all small talked, I asked the Asian guy from LA, named Brian, if he was there to meet some mail order brides too, but he seemed vague in his response, so I left it at that. All I knew was that he was meeting a woman friend there. (I would later run into him again in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city>. Read the chapter on the second week for details.) <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>When we all got in line to enter the gate, it was suddenly announced on the air that the flight was overbooked (cause everyone showed up this time), and that they were offering money and a free night at a hotel in exchange for volunteers to stay behind and take the next day's flight. As no one volunteered, they kept raising the compensation higher. Eventually it was $300 in cash and $300 in credit toward future airline tickets, and a free night's hotel stay in <st1:place st="on">Frankfurt</st1:place>. It was very very tempting to me, and if I wasn't tight about my schedule and a control freak about it, I would have gladly volunteered. Eventually someone did volunteer, so we all proceeded onboard. <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>This was a much smaller Luftansa plane, and not as fancy. On the flight, a young Spanish guy and a young Russian guy sat next to me. They were both very talkative and friendly. We all talked like old friends. The guy from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Spain</st1:place></st1:country-region> was going to be a foreign exchange student and live with a Russian family. The Russian guy was from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city> and was going back after some long boat trip, though I wasn't clear as to what it was for, but it sounded like it was his work. The Russian guy gave me advice about getting around <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city> and what to expect, and he was so friendly and positive that I was hoping that all Russian guys would be like this. <o:p></o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjc5HTN_gy8xprtAhUx1Xg9Yi2Kn2-W7V56SJeIGSFBl8ZygPgrNWykWzcDQ0F6IyWIWzqD9tg4YgQRXcR9nCXpLYKWfqL_glcN6y3iKky85XtRoU6Bpauy3yNOfdXphLSFG3AhTBrMOo/s1600-h/DVC000008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156060270136218082" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjc5HTN_gy8xprtAhUx1Xg9Yi2Kn2-W7V56SJeIGSFBl8ZygPgrNWykWzcDQ0F6IyWIWzqD9tg4YgQRXcR9nCXpLYKWfqL_glcN6y3iKky85XtRoU6Bpauy3yNOfdXphLSFG3AhTBrMOo/s320/DVC000008.JPG" border="0" /></a>After about two hours, the captain signaled that we were now approaching <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city>. "This is it" I thought. As the plane approached <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city>, I looked out the window and saw a lot of greenery all around. It wasn't like rolling pastures per say, but more like a worn and ancient landscape with some character to it. It looked very country and rural. I kept looking for big buildings and skyscrapers, but I didn't see any.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQrBSpP6jS8KncagF2GiHlCmK41X5N_roolzfzwhywEgHdopBUwjOE_prxze6F_RTftmFhLGk2KydIo_WAj62i6JvOjfzbMqSB3Qlb9PQKvryDSLw1FKUd-BM6TDowB4EtVRj5sBeDLeX/s1600-h/DVC000009.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156060605143667186" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQrBSpP6jS8KncagF2GiHlCmK41X5N_roolzfzwhywEgHdopBUwjOE_prxze6F_RTftmFhLGk2KydIo_WAj62i6JvOjfzbMqSB3Qlb9PQKvryDSLw1FKUd-BM6TDowB4EtVRj5sBeDLeX/s320/DVC000009.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMU8GN-F2s3l43Wz3t5UdyjxkV_JsNSdKJtfWe0uGcXifCbrGsopf08K8iuZQHC38MGA6NFyCmeaZGZSvh4eul90zvG9_6LJZ8FYZhS-pFz1ut57mPXcYeaTBxaJ1opqeCcNa361ccZ9LW/s1600-h/DVC000010.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156060609438634498" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMU8GN-F2s3l43Wz3t5UdyjxkV_JsNSdKJtfWe0uGcXifCbrGsopf08K8iuZQHC38MGA6NFyCmeaZGZSvh4eul90zvG9_6LJZ8FYZhS-pFz1ut57mPXcYeaTBxaJ1opqeCcNa361ccZ9LW/s320/DVC000010.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />As the view of the land became closer, I thought "Oh my gosh! I can't believe I'm actually about to land in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I never thought in my life that I would ever visit this country. All my life I've heard nothing but bad fearful things about this country from the media and from my history teachers. To Americans, this is like the land of the forbidden, and now I'm here! I only hope I live to tell about it. If I do, it'll be something to be proud of, since then I can say that I've been to a country that most Americans are fearful and ignorant about." As I got excited about this prospect, with my adventurous appetite flowing, I realized that unfortunately, I had absolutely no idea what would lay in store for me the next 6 weeks! It could be the best experience of my life, or the worst experience, or something I totally didn't expect! I also realized that I was now in a foreign country that I hardly knew anything about. It was like an alien land on another planet. Nothing I knew about how things are back in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> would apply here. I had to drop all my preconceived notions and relearn everything from scratch, and go carefully one step at a time. After we reached touchdown, I suddenly realized that although it's supposed to be 11pm here, it was still light out. I asked the Russian guy next to me about this, and he explained to me that it was called "White Nights", which was a period of a few weeks in St. Petersburg every year in July when the sun would only set for a few hours, kind of like in Alaska.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZlZstIxuFJDeGeo968zYD0-JNXNyteFjANgk5VXGAhDlLEeQ3-PBBUGgaCc76of-AcH0CkmaFKcNWLBiG50taJMM5BqBpz6goHAV7P_cFR_tn2J40aH045R5FgU7wosLG_kNgr5ThxxE/s1600-h/DVC000012.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156060609438634514" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZlZstIxuFJDeGeo968zYD0-JNXNyteFjANgk5VXGAhDlLEeQ3-PBBUGgaCc76of-AcH0CkmaFKcNWLBiG50taJMM5BqBpz6goHAV7P_cFR_tn2J40aH045R5FgU7wosLG_kNgr5ThxxE/s320/DVC000012.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxrXi3MJh26xge8g0BS6_mqa9kw6eSdGLJb-ukaAyiXsjuSrAS2SE2h9tUDhVmvD0841fyzLyWQywmeGG8dqZ2IoV9bJALcpv48_uibTIU5sx-vc1mi_8BM0mzCJkbirlu2mF3LA-nONk/s1600-h/Neva_Bridge_White_Nights.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145297614668386514" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxrXi3MJh26xge8g0BS6_mqa9kw6eSdGLJb-ukaAyiXsjuSrAS2SE2h9tUDhVmvD0841fyzLyWQywmeGG8dqZ2IoV9bJALcpv48_uibTIU5sx-vc1mi_8BM0mzCJkbirlu2mF3LA-nONk/s200/Neva_Bridge_White_Nights.jpg" border="0" /></a><o:p></o:p></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_0y8Z7ANxztss-1n-NVlbnWg9jA4jOvQrPTPcJuRozLn1cZmSBsy8NMKm80WrEbgqaVHBqig-R2-iSGxEnwmrym-uR0qWqoWy4mQXfgiZxF_E_LiIHtUck2PqzVrjQcFU5lo-Oz0-pZI/s1600-h/Palace_Bridge.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145297618963353826" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_0y8Z7ANxztss-1n-NVlbnWg9jA4jOvQrPTPcJuRozLn1cZmSBsy8NMKm80WrEbgqaVHBqig-R2-iSGxEnwmrym-uR0qWqoWy4mQXfgiZxF_E_LiIHtUck2PqzVrjQcFU5lo-Oz0-pZI/s200/Palace_Bridge.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When we all got off the plane and entered the airport, the three of us then exchanged email addresses and then got into the line for customs. Waiting in line, I noticed that all the signs and billboards in the airport were in Russian cryllic. "Oh great" I thought, "Now I can't even read anything around me. I'm illiterate now!" When I got to the customs lady, I noticed how gorgeous and cute she was, but she also had a frowned look and an apathetic one as well. I guess people here don't have to smile, which I already knew from my prior research. There was a good side to this though, because this also meant that since it was normal to look grumpy, people wouldn't be giving me BS pep talks for not smiling 24 hours a day like they would in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>! (where people think there is something wrong with you and try to fix up your attitude if you're not positive and smiling 24 hours a day everyday) After the customs check, I went to the baggage claim area and met up with the tall Asian guy and the Russian woman I talked to in the <st1:place st="on">Frankfurt</st1:place> airport. The woman tried to call a taxi service for me, but couldn't find the number. So I brought out the number for the hostel I was staying at, to try to see if I could get them to send a driver to me, which I learned from their website would be about $25, less than the mafia taxi. When I used her cell phone to call them, they said that it was too late to schedule a driver from them and that I had to schedule this in advance if I wanted this service. I also found out that the city bus and metro system were already closed for the night. Realizing that there was nothing I could do, I proceeded reluctantly to the outside exit, knowing that I would be scam bait for the mafia taxis. As I walked the corridor to the outside, I noticed some Russian stewardesses sitting in some chairs in a corner, and I marveled at how hot and perfect looking they were. They looked like they walked out of some magazine. I wanted to stop and say hi but the rush of the crowd behind me kept pushing me forward.<br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuvnIQukVhBStlIgi_AgVCJAdIXRuc5PjaFYsS4thTv7nRXp3I27Gk5yAyQiYQ0O6naqbg9bJcQjk6Pl-7-Yaznz6uBgSGMtmQhLy61RUfFzEFrPrkIHtj-ZeSpQ77oDh71UXN6b9x1th/s1600-h/Nevsky_Prospect.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145295815077089458" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; width: 236px; cursor: pointer; height: 182px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuvnIQukVhBStlIgi_AgVCJAdIXRuc5PjaFYsS4thTv7nRXp3I27Gk5yAyQiYQ0O6naqbg9bJcQjk6Pl-7-Yaznz6uBgSGMtmQhLy61RUfFzEFrPrkIHtj-ZeSpQ77oDh71UXN6b9x1th/s320/Nevsky_Prospect.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCnwYY707VQDOK2k-tuCDjzMcMCEvblAfiyJjntkTpjeG4ZSPj82aqcsaBtTojoAhoosaf_4NYZLf67-7tTiVuYMnaXrW7EUinXLMijJH-4bG7TJcD13zjngnY1HMI6QUtxcGONAqoE_5w/s1600-h/Neva_Bridge_Night.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145295819372056770" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; width: 238px; cursor: pointer; height: 171px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCnwYY707VQDOK2k-tuCDjzMcMCEvblAfiyJjntkTpjeG4ZSPj82aqcsaBtTojoAhoosaf_4NYZLf67-7tTiVuYMnaXrW7EUinXLMijJH-4bG7TJcD13zjngnY1HMI6QUtxcGONAqoE_5w/s320/Neva_Bridge_Night.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br />When I got outside, I immediately noticed the humidity and hot air and the sense that I was now in a strange foreign land. As I approached the parking lot, I saw a group of mafia run taxis parked in front of me, with drivers waiting outside of them, and to my right I saw the other passengers getting into tour buses to pick them up. I stopped and contemplated what to do, and how to not be scammed. But the mafia taxi drivers didn't even give me time to think. When they saw me stop and look indecisive, they approached me in their nice suits and offered a ride to me. They spoke pretty good English, obviously. When I asked about the price, they wanted $50. "Yeah right" I thought. I argued and negotiated with them, and finally they brought it down to $35, but no less. Being alone in a foreign country, I feared for my safety, so I asked to see some proof that they were an official service. I didn't want to risk being kidnapped! They had none to show me, but they offered to call the airport security so I could ask them if it was safe to get in their car or not. I agreed, and so they called a uniformed guard out from the airport. He couldn't speak English, but I managed to point to the taxis and say to him "Is it ok? Yes?" and he said "Yes" and nodded. So I conceded and got in the car with my luggage and showed the driver the address I needed to get to. He sped off immediately and right away I noticed how worn and bumpy the roads were, even at the airport. I knew I could not expect smooth maintained roads here. None of the safety laws of the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> applied here! <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>As we approached the city of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">St. Petersburg</st1:place></st1:city>, it gradually became dark. I looked at the window and was in awe at what I saw. The city was much more modern than I had expected. I didn't know why I thought it would be primitive. But there were flashing neon signs, urban sights, and people walking everywhere in well dressed outfits. I knew that it would be like this from the descriptions I read on the internet, but seeing this myself was even better because it confirmed all of it. It was nothing like what you would see of <st1:country-region st="on">Russia</st1:country-region> from the <st1:country-region st="on">US</st1:country-region> media, which often showed <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region> to be poor and primitive. And furthermore, the Russian pop music that was playing in the taxi cab confirmed to me further that I was in some strange exotic land. I did some people watching during the ride too, and couldn't believe how many tall gorgeous women with long legs there were, even at this time of night. I couldn't wait to get out and meet them, and test to see if all the talk I heard about them being friendly and approachable to foreigners was true or not! I sure hoped it was. If so, this would be a paradise! As it became dark, the city lights and life looked very colorful and fancy. My fear was replaced with excitement! As we drove, I also kept looking closely at the mafia cab driver to see if he would suddenly pull out a gun and yell "Stay right where you are!" To calm my nervousness about this, I made small talk with him and tried to be funny and act innocent. <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Finally, we arrived at my hostel which was on the side of the big <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Neva</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place>. The driver got out and helped me unload my luggage. I paid him the $35 and as I was about to turn around he said "What about tip?" I said "I thought I read that you don't tip taxis in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Russia</st1:place></st1:country-region>!" but I went ahead and gave him a dollar anyway. I walked up to the big old door of the hostel, and opened it. The interior of it looked like an old building with a history all right. I walked in and looked around. There was nobody there, not even a receptionist. "That's funny" I thought, because I was told by them on the phone and on the website that there would a hostel staff available there 24 hours a day. I looked around and noticed that the office to my right was locked and closed and the security booth to my left was empty. Not knowing what to do, I yelled out "Hello! Is anyone here?" No one responded. I could have sworn that I was at the right place because the big sign outside did say "St. Petersburg International Hostel Holiday". I went out and double checked it and confirmed it. When I got back in the hall, I thought "Well there's another big door in front of me. Maybe I should just go through it and I'll be able to find a receptionist beyond it." It's the only logical answer. So I did that, and sure enough to my left was a hallway with a reception area. I walked to it and greeted the receptionist saying that I arrived. I checked in, paid by credit card for a few days, got the key to my room, some blankets, pillows, and toiletries. I would be in a double bunk room, but I would have it to myself since no one else needed it. I also noticed European guests coming and going throughout the lobby. They all spoke with exotic European accents. <o:p></o:p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Before going to my room, I called Olga, the lady I came to see in this city, and told her that I arrived. She was glad and said that we would arrange to meet tomorrow. Even though I hadn't slept well for 48 hours, my adrenaline was pumped with excitement at being here, so I wasn't really tired but full of energy. I went outside to gaze at this exotic new world in the moonlight. I looked at the romantic <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Neva</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place> and bridge, lit by the moonlight. The sight was surreal and I could feel the culture all around me. As I sat down outside and marveled at it all, some European girls came up to the door and we exchanged hello's. I asked them where they were from and they said <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Holland</st1:place></st1:city>. I told them about my long time Dutch pen pal Karin, and then I explained that I just arrived here and asked them how they liked this city so far. They said it was great, but then pointed to the bridge and warned me that if I cross it to the other side of town and didn't come back before 1am, that the bridge would open up for a few hours to let the ships pass through, and that I would be stuck on the other side for several hours until 4am. They explained that it had already happened to them, and they didn't mind it because it was fun being on the other side just drinking and mingling with people and hanging out. I thanked them for the advice and wished them goodnight. I went to my room, settled down, and laid on my bed. As I lay, I felt relieved that I had made it safely here, with English speaking staff here ready to help me get around. I quickly fell asleep.<b><o:p></o:p></b><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuvnIQukVhBStlIgi_AgVCJAdIXRuc5PjaFYsS4thTv7nRXp3I27Gk5yAyQiYQ0O6naqbg9bJcQjk6Pl-7-Yaznz6uBgSGMtmQhLy61RUfFzEFrPrkIHtj-ZeSpQ77oDh71UXN6b9x1th/s1600-h/Nevsky_Prospect.jpg"><br /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCnwYY707VQDOK2k-tuCDjzMcMCEvblAfiyJjntkTpjeG4ZSPj82aqcsaBtTojoAhoosaf_4NYZLf67-7tTiVuYMnaXrW7EUinXLMijJH-4bG7TJcD13zjngnY1HMI6QUtxcGONAqoE_5w/s1600-h/Neva_Bridge_Night.jpg"><br /></a></p></div>WuMasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533298982880223872noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067954817899235002.post-31419033415072691622002-07-12T03:05:00.000-07:002008-01-16T05:02:52.484-08:00Introduction of my 2002 First Trip to Russia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLX0R5j-w_O0frLihiFE40KFqWOC2MTWI-Mv7MxIPg7BBAHrdhXAlU5pvVvtkw15Nhk1NZGGPJs3vbY0VVJoImdHXjwSM1Gtd8H9hLkSGeKu4KLrV7R-HrhmL9tRFmJpyuOFymiB8mmxMp/s1600-h/Map+of+Russia.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145300591080722674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLX0R5j-w_O0frLihiFE40KFqWOC2MTWI-Mv7MxIPg7BBAHrdhXAlU5pvVvtkw15Nhk1NZGGPJs3vbY0VVJoImdHXjwSM1Gtd8H9hLkSGeKu4KLrV7R-HrhmL9tRFmJpyuOFymiB8mmxMp/s320/Map+of+Russia.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><br /></span><br /><br />Privet! ("Hello" in Russian) My name is Winston. This is the story of my 6 week trip in Russia and Ukraine in the Summer of 2002 from July 15 to August 31. It tells the story of how Russia became a permanent part of my soul, and describes my voyage through seven cities in Russia/Ukraine and the seven women I visited (not one woman per city), and the valuable life lessons I learned. This is all of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly, unedited to show reality. I have tried to describe everything in a way that allows the reader to feel and experience each significant moment of the trip as I did. This is the final accompaniment to my file of journal entries (which I typed in internet cafes there during my trip) and my online photo journal (comprised of my favorite photos from the trip). During my trip when I typed up my weekly journal in internet cafes to email to everyone that was interested, I was more pressed for time and therefore I could only summarize everything briefly. Now that I'm back at home, I am able to write the story in its complete version. I know this will turn out to be long, but I promise to try to not make it boring. Although it has been two months since the trip, I am recalling all the details to the best of my memory, using my journal entries (which were written in internet cafes during my trip) as reference to check the facts. I hope you enjoy reading this detailed and personal account. Any questions or comments can be directed to me at <a href="mailto:WWu777us@yahoo.com">WWu777us@yahoo.com</a>.<br /><br />Relevant links of interest:<br /><br />You may also view the online photo journal of this trip that I put together at <a href="http://www.happierabroad.com/Photojournals.htm">http://www.happierabroad.com/Photojournals.htm</a>. Also, you may arrange to purchase a copy of the video footage I took during this trip through this link: <a href="http://www.happierabroad.com/Video_List.htm">http://www.happierabroad.com/Video_List.htm</a>.<br /><br />As a result of the experiences and lessons of my trips, I've written some advice articles for first time travelers to Russia and for dating Russian women too. You can find them at this link below.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.happierabroad.com/Guide_Russia.htm">http://www.happierabroad.com/Guide_Russia.htm</a><br /><br />If you feel enriched or benefited from my experiences and discoveries, you may help me out by ordering something from my online catalogue at <a href="http://www.happierabroad.com/order.htm">http://www.happierabroad.com/order.htm</a>.<br /><br /><br />The Problems That Drove Me To Search For Love in Russia/Ukraine<br /><br />After my ex-girlfriend Robin left me after 2.5 years of living together with plans to marry, my dating and love life has been almost non-existent. She left suddenly with no warning and no attempt to work things out or listen to me. It was like having one of your body limbs torn off instantly with no warning or negotiation or consideration for your feelings. (Imagine that!) It was the most sudden and devastating experience in my life, and worst of all, it came from the person whom I trusted most in my life. After suffering in depression and agony, and being incapacitated for a few months, I left for Nevada to do a show with my friend there and stayed about eight months. I had a great time there, met many new people, got involved in show biz, did some paranormal ghost hunting investigations, got into some commercials and other acting jobs, and even got a new girlfriend. The experiences there recuperated me back to normal. The girlfriend I had in Nevada, though, only lasted 6 weeks. It was the most bizarre breakup I've ever had. Everything was going great until the last day, when after losing her car keys in the snow on December 2, 2001, she suddenly changed her complete attitude and behavior toward me. It was shocking coming from someone who was supposedly mature and well polished. I had been super nice to her, didn't make any of the mistakes I did with Robin, but eventually she saw red flags in every little thing I did, and twisted or used almost everything I said against me. After that, with the winter season and the declining economy, my work situation went downhill too. With nothing left in Nevada, I went back home to Washington to figure out what to do next. Luckily for me, I immediately got a job offer for a position I applied for a year earlier with the State Employment Security Office. Ever since then my dating life has gotten nowhere. I would meet many women all around town and on the internet and almost all of them would say that they had a boyfriend, thought they were too good for me, or had some other excuse. To them, I was either not their type or we had nothing in common. Since I had a wide variety of knowledge and interests, this perplexed me. I didn't know what would interest these girls and how I would appeal to them. Since I was single and without a committed lover, I felt that during this period, I should be dating many girls and having fun, but noooooo my single life has never been like that, either here or in California where I grew up. Instead, it's always been one let down after another, getting nowhere and being ignored by almost every decent looking woman around me. It seemed that girls wouldn't even talk to me unless it was for business reasons or pragmatic reasons (such as if they're a waitress, retail store worker offering assistance, etc.), and if I tried to change that by socializing with them or getting to know them, they would make me feel awkward like I was doing something wrong. Gee whiz! How are people around here supposed to procreate and further the species if this is how it is?!?!?!?!?!? I know I know, maybe I'm just not good enough for them, but why? I am not fat or ugly, and most people consider me to be from decent looking to cute or handsome, so I couldn't figure out what the problem was, and neither could any of my female friends I asked.<br /><br />I had this same problem in California too, before I moved up here in 1998 to be with Robin. Still, I persisted in my efforts because I'm not a loser or a quitter and I felt I deserved better than this. However, the reality was that most of the time when I met a girl here, we would have little to talk about, she would be unwilling and impatient to give me any of her time, there would be no chemistry, and nothing I said would sound interesting to them even though I had a wide variety of topical knowledge. Even when a girl gave me her number, she would never follow up on it. If I called her, she would either never answer her phone (screening her calls out), always say she was about to leave, or make excuses for not meeting me. It was a lose-lose situation all around. I never had them figured out, but someone must have, because most of these girls are seen around town with punk ass looking guys, who somehow managed to get these young hot American girls, which I can't. I also tried meeting them off the internet too, through instant messaging and internet personals. Most of the time though, when I sent them my nice looking cute quality photo, about 60 or 70 percent of the girls would stop talking to me altogether. And as for the rest, when we met, if they were decent looking and above, then they would have no interest in me and give me bad apathetic vibes, and it would turn out to be a one time meeting, regardless of what they told me at the end of the date. The only ones that liked me were the most unattractive types that weren't even slightly proportional in weight. Before I met Robin, this also happened for years in California as well. And these things would happen even when I followed those overused cliches like "Be confident and like yourself, and others will like you and be attracted to your confidence too." In fact, I have never found even the slightest correlation between your confidence and how attracted women are to you. When a woman has genuinely liked me before, she still would like me even when I showed low confidence, and when a woman was not interested in me, it didn't matter if I seemed confident or felt confident or not. She still didn't like me. And that other overused cliche that says that chicks like guys who don't need them, is often false as well. I have found that these cliches were true only if the girl was ALREADY interested in you prior. They don't matter if she wasn't interested in you in the first place. But people still spout these cliches like they are gospel truth or something. Very bizarre indeed.<br /><br />Anyway, it seems that most white girls like punk guys, tall white guys, airhead jocks, or black or hispanic guys, rarely an Asian guy. The deck was constantly stacked against me no matter how hard I tried. And with all the hundreds of women I've pursued and tried to get to know, I only had three real girlfriends to show for it. Therefore, my hit rate with American girls was less than 1 percent. That's just totally unacceptable to me. When I lose a girlfriend, I should be able to replace her if I want. But this was ridiculous. When I was about to lose a relationship, being in this type of futile situation was what I always dreaded. This totally was against the freedom and choices that I felt that America should be about. But unfortunately, America to me equals loneliness and disappointment and frustration. Americans, particular American girls, have always treated me like a misfit and outcast, not because I wanted to be, but because that's how I was seen, and how the chemistry between us was. Obviously, despite the media hype, America is not for everyone. I didn't have these problems with sociality and dating when I lived for a year in Taiwan, for example. There, girls fought over me, and I was treated like an interesting and likable person. I did not feel that I deserved this. American girls treated me like I was a different species than them, a species that they didn't want to have anything to do with. I've always had trouble even getting into the same social groups as good looking white American girls. They don't even want me as a friend. And we don't usually have anything in common either for some reason, either because they wanted it that way, they have so few interests, or simply have no interest or desire in having me in their lives. Again, all of this was unacceptable to me, and rather than everyday stomping my foot and getting frustrated and turning to God and saying "Come on!" in frustration, I looked for other alternatives to this problem. Before I met Robin, I had started looking into the Russian Mail Order Bride (which is a very derogatory term to these elegant princesses, but I use that term here only for identification purposes since that is what they are called in this country) business, but after I moved to be with her, I felt it was no longer necessary. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with her. I never thought that it would ever become necessary again. So Russia and its women were put out of my mind for years. Now, I was mysteriously drawn to it, like it was a last hope for me. The reason I did not pursue Asian women of my ethnicity instead was because I am generally attracted to Caucasian women, and find very few Asian women to be attractive. In addition, Asian women tend to have values and interests that are very different than me. I know because I grew up in California and have even lived a year in Taiwan (where I was told by some people that my mentality was too different from the Taiwanese women to be truly compatible with them) and knew many of them.<br /><br />So the logical choice seemed to be Russian women. I started using the most popular websites to get addresses or emails to those Russian women I found attractive, to start correspondence with them. Contrary to common perception, you can't just order a bride to be sent to you. You have to write her first, narrow down your choices, and then visit her in her country. It is almost impossible for a girl there to get a visa to the USA, not even a tourist visa. The only way is to visit her, and pick the right one, and apply for a fiance visa with the US Embassy there, and the whole process could take between several months to 6 or 9 months. And furthermore, I did not feel that the term "Mail Order Bride" was appropriate. In fact, it was both demeaning and false. First of all, you can't order them to come or write you. All you can do is order their contact information. The rest is just like the internet personals process here in the USA. You write each other and see how much you have in common. Second, the term is demeaning to them. Most of these are intelligent attitude free women who are more intelligent and nice and attitude free than most American girls, for sure. (that I can guarantee you after my trip) At first, I felt awkward about this whole process because it is against the norm in our society. Nothing in our culture or media encourages this kind of thing. In fact, people often look down on it and those who do it are seen as losers and misfits that couldn't make it with American women. (even if that was true about me, hey it wasn't my choice to be unsuccessful with American women!) So I felt ambivalent about it at first, but the process had an exotic feel to it as well since we were dealing with women from the other side of the planet. Eventually though, I found many logical reasons why I had to do this. I made a list of them in fact. Here they are.<br /><br />1. First of all, in the USA, I do not have my choice of young attractive women because I am not considered attractive by this culture's standards and women do not consider me "dating material". I can't even get decent looking women. It seems the only women that really like me here are unattractive, heavyset, desperate women, which is totally not my type. On the other hand, in Russia I have my choice of young attractive women to choose from. For some reason, I am considered attractive and relationship material there, not just because of my US citizenship either. Therefore, it is much more logical to look for a serious mate from Russia because I have my choice from available attractive women with good values, whereas here I have no choices and many factors (described below) are against me. Wouldn't you rather have choices than no choices? Therefore, where there were no choices, I had to take action to create choices.<br /><br />2. The second reason is that even when I can get relationships with attractive women in America, they will not stay long because our culture and media teaches them that whenever there is a problem in the relationship, to just get out and forget about the guy. Our culture has always encouraged selfishness, and that is no mystery. They are not faithful or stable in relationships. They do not try to solve the problems in their relationship. They will only stay during the good times, but bail out during the bad times. You can give them your love, time, heart, and money and in the end they will show their true colors because it was all about them and their needs all along, not yours. This is usually shocking the first time for those who have never experienced it. I do not believe this is how true love should be. My relationships with American women have also been this way. I do not want to give my heart and love to someone again if they are just going to throw it in the garbage when they are done. I am getting old and do not want to waste time with the games that American women play. I don't have energy for that anymore. Russian women on the other hand, are generally known to be giving, supportive, and faithful to their husbands. They aren't perfect of course, but at least they are much CLOSER to being this way than most American girls are. Both Americans who know Russian women and Russians have concurred with this image of Russian women.<br /><br />3. The third reason is that attractive women here do not want nice men. They may say they want a nice man, but their actions will not lead them to be with one. Most of the attractive women here only want to be with jerks who treat them bad because it is more challenging to them. Men who treat them good are boring and not interesting enough for them. They need the drama of trying to change someone. I cannot treat someone badly because it is not in my nature and character to do so. I know all this sounds crazy and sad, but it is the truth. Even American women will not deny this. Russian women, fortunately, do not have this tendency to prefer jerks over nice men. They tend to be more evolved than that.<br /><br />4. The fourth reason is that most attractive American women appreciate different qualities than my qualities. They prefer tall athletic white men, rather than short cute intellectual deep Asian men. They do not find me ugly, but I do not have the qualities and features that they value. This has been my experience from pursuing hundreds of American girls before, observed couples, talking to them, and observing their preferences described in their personal ads, etc. Although I have many fine qualities over most American men such as intelligence, intellectualism, high understanding, artistic abilities, sensitivity, inner qualities, romantic traits, diverse interests, and deep soulful qualities, etc. these qualities are not appreciated or sought after by most young attractive American women. Instead, they are seen as weaknesses. On the other hand, Russian women who see my photo tend to tell me that they can see qualities they like in me such as those above. The evidence for this is obvious. Besides pursuing many girls here, I have also put many photo personal ads in places such as Match.com and have gotten no responses. The girls that I respond to on those personals hardly ever write back to me when I send them my photo. On the other hand, many beautiful young Russian women have written back to me to express their interest when I sent them the same photo, and told me the qualities they see in me from my photo, and given me many compliments. They've also written me first when I placed a photo in their online services and expressed their interest in me. This has gotten me even more excited about them.<br /><br />5. The fifth reason is that I have much better personal chemistry with Russian women. With American girls, almost everyone I meet in person soon concludes that we have nothing in common and/or that I'm not their type, offering vague explanations that I can't use to pinpoint the problem with. On the other hand, my online and phone conversations with Russian girls were much more lively, enjoyable, natural, deep, intellectual, and less awkward. They were usually left with both of us still interested in each other. They made me feel warm and likable. And even with the Russian women who don't speak much English, I still have more to talk about with them than with most young American girls who can only say "Yeah", "Yeah", "Really?", "Cool", and "Nice meeting you", which leads nowhere except more boredom and loneliness. Therefore, I have much better chemistry with them intellectually, emotionally, and naturally. After knowing some Russian women, you realize that they act the way God intended women to be, and you also realize that the way American women are is far off from the real norm.<br /><br />So you see, my objective is to have a long term relationship with an attractive woman with good values. There are so many undesirable factors here working against me in that endeavor. It is much more LOGICAL and PROBABLE that I can obtain that objective with Russian women than with American women. Does this all make sense now? Eventually, I realized that no matter how scared I was to go to a foreign country and not know the language, anything was better than the alternative, which was to stay here in this crappy town for the upcoming summer and continually be ignored by the women here, and have nothing but boredom and loneliness to look forward to everyday. Would you want that? Therefore, in a situation where I didn't have choices, I had to take action and CREATE choices. I was brave, resourceful, and determined. Anything was better than more weeks and months of regret for not living the life I wanted. What's the worse that could happen? After all, as the saying goes, "You regret more the things you didn't do than the things you did do." What it comes down to is that the fear of regret was much greater in me than the fear of doing something unorthodox.<br /><br />The Big Picture<br /><br />Despite all the above explanations, here's the big picture. Each day, week, month, and year that goes by is gone forever and never comes back. Therefore each moment that goes by is precious and priceless. Looking back on the last ten years, I don't see that many happy special memories, except a few moments, which is not as much as I would like, especially if you compare them to the whole. Here in the USA, I don't really have any fun, don't get invited to parties, don't get female companionship, don't get dates, never get to do anything hip, never get to be popular, don't get any attention or get taken seriously by the opposite sex, don't have good times with cool people, etc. Almost 100 percent of American girls that I ask out give me nothing but stupid excuses of one sort or another. And even when I do have occassional slices of these things, it's always rare, short and fleeting. Most people on the other hand, have had their fair share of all of these things. You hear young people talk all the time about the wild, crazy, fun things they did all the time, and the people that were with them. There is little I can do about all this because it all feels like it's the natural way it should be due to my chemistry, vibes, and place in this society. It's not about what I do or don't do, but about intangible things that are difficult to define. All of this is totally unacceptable to me, and I don't think it should be this way. I believe that I should have choices. I believe that I should have a choice in whether I want to be alone tonight or not. I believe that I should have choices in whether I want to be dating or in a relationship or not. I believe that I should be able to find people to have good times with when I want to. Instead, life here gives me none of these choices and just forces me into having nothing. A big part of the reason for this is that people here are generally snobbier than the rest of the world, and have such high standards for things. People just don't seem interested in having me be part of their lives.<br /><br />Therefore, life in America for me has been mostly filled with loneliness, disappointment, emptiness, rejection, frustration, isolation, and alienation. In fact, when I even hear the word "America" the next word that comes to my mind is "loneliness". That's how bad it is. Most people, on the other hand, have choices in these matters. How often to you hear the news claim that these kind of things are national problems? (Many victim-blaming Americans will try to blame me for these type of things of course, because they like to blame those who complain and whine, but they can't logically do so because I am the one actively trying to change these things.) As I already mentioned, I feel a lot of regret toward the past ten years. I have learned many things, but I didn't get my fair share of good times, happy memories, and special moments. I feel like I've wasted most of my youth already. I don't have many years of youth left, and you're only young once. Therefore, I don't want to waste anymore years in regret. I find it pointless to follow the ideal of corporate America and become a slave to money and work, when there's no good times, female companionship, love, special moments, special memories, etc. to go with it. As the wise will tell you, the most memorable moments of your life don't involve money. Looking back on the last ten years and on my childhood before that, I see a huge deficit that needs to be made up. Therefore, rather than continuing with all this, having each moment pass by in regret, disappointment, and loneliness, and being deprived of female companionship, affection, and love, I believe in taking action. Since I have all these things I want in Russia, it's obviously much better for me to go there and help close some of these deficits.<br /><br />Regardless of any condemnation or ridicule I may receive, the simple truth is that I was GIVEN a loser status in my society, and thus treated as such. I NEVER EVER asked for it or earned it! And that is the honest truth, so help me God.Simply put, I have needs. But my position and status in the dating/mating game here does not allow me any way to fulfill those needs. Girls do not want a relationship with me, nor do they want casual sex with me. They either only want friendship, to be an acquaintance, to use me, or nothing at all to do with me. That puts me in a position where I am forced to resort to extreme methods and tactics (since "extreme situations require extreme measures, but I won't even go into what extreme things I've done), one of which is going abroad and doing the Russian bride-seeking route.<br /><br />Preparation, Plan and Strategy<br /><br />I began the process by searching through many internet marriage agencies and browsing the photos and profiles. I used a variety of them. They each had their own policies. Some of the sites were free, others you had to pay a small cost for each address you order, and others you paid memberships for to get unlimited access to all the addresses. And some were a combination of the above. Some of the addresses contained emails too, others didn't. I created a nice form letter to send as well as my printed photo. I sent these both through postal air mail and emails when that was unavailable. I got great responses to my form letter and photo. A lot of gorgeous women who would never have given me the time of day in the USA started writing me back and expressing interest. I know that many people who hear this will suddenly think "Yeah, well that's because they want to use you to get a visa to America" but that wasn't really true, and I'll explain that in detail later on. Later on, I also joined a moderated email discussion list relating to this topic called RussianBrideList@yahoogroups.com. I learned a lot from this list which helped me prepare for the trip, including do's and don't's, what to bring, how to behave in the culture, etc. A common topic on this list was whether it is better to go visit just one woman and risk putting all your eggs in one basket, or visit many women and risk them being angry if they found out about each other. I had this concern as well. What I learned was that although both methods had their risks and advantages, most men who have been through this process found that the visit many women strategy was the best one. If you put all your eggs in one basket and things went wrong, then you would have wasted a lot of time and money. Therefore, it was best to narrow it down to several top candidates in terms of compatibility and visit them. Still, a third strategy recommended to me was to visit them in order of the most compatible woman to you, and if it worked out, then to stay with that woman the rest of the trip and cancel with the rest, and go from there. I thought of doing that too, but then I would have to break my promises to the rest, and besides, even if I hit it off with the first one, I'll never know if the next one is better. However, the women I arranged to visit lived in different geographical areas, and they each had their own time and vacation schedules around school and work, so that was what I took into final consideration when I finalized my plan.<br /><br />After several months, I narrowed it down to 3 primary women, Olga in St. Peterburg (Russia), Julia in Cherepovets (Russia), and Elena in Mariupol (Ukraine). (I have to admit that all three of these were attractive sexy blondes, whom I have least experience with even though I find them the most desirable!)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34hkFPTTDQpR0n3XaEgid1rdUHLO5VZXWlUXwn7ztPuZ3dn5-Pe-LN0UnjlPJ3in56tX1HRgN53JTKU2Up5MGLz3Ezgpb_HdkMxNzR1JModJOCV2lMJ9ZhrVWdE7bjtIJ8wNxh7eknxox/s1600-h/OLGA211.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156056868522119538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 157px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 238px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="204" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34hkFPTTDQpR0n3XaEgid1rdUHLO5VZXWlUXwn7ztPuZ3dn5-Pe-LN0UnjlPJ3in56tX1HRgN53JTKU2Up5MGLz3Ezgpb_HdkMxNzR1JModJOCV2lMJ9ZhrVWdE7bjtIJ8wNxh7eknxox/s320/OLGA211.jpg" width="146" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1lUGA3tUs4j7xbiXZEoivlGZ5pO3gvzoIGaGTfvEZ7FmQgFISPrdUSg4UKKLYIvSyN5_Wo_PmPP8fEswox94owpy83meI9QhijSZDYPEftjHQkz2aTFLYvdvD3J7lqpsFV7NAzpBpEbqE/s1600-h/Julia+and+Friends.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156056872817086850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 304px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 212px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="206" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1lUGA3tUs4j7xbiXZEoivlGZ5pO3gvzoIGaGTfvEZ7FmQgFISPrdUSg4UKKLYIvSyN5_Wo_PmPP8fEswox94owpy83meI9QhijSZDYPEftjHQkz2aTFLYvdvD3J7lqpsFV7NAzpBpEbqE/s320/Julia+and+Friends.jpg" width="291" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijR-XMDIDyevX_r1VTT8HPJTXhgqrYxQfB0iuIoP5np5KX9HTPM2S8YkJXzE6IaLiLhjrHgVZamm9_hSdlgy6pMYhVskqKsI-BFDoEmv_Wg7HTxWzeuz1tC5Se3jKAw28gtFEMSIqn3KTt/s1600-h/Elena+Motorina.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156056872817086866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 179px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 271px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="302" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijR-XMDIDyevX_r1VTT8HPJTXhgqrYxQfB0iuIoP5np5KX9HTPM2S8YkJXzE6IaLiLhjrHgVZamm9_hSdlgy6pMYhVskqKsI-BFDoEmv_Wg7HTxWzeuz1tC5Se3jKAw28gtFEMSIqn3KTt/s320/Elena+Motorina.jpg" width="195" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I would start with Olga in St. Petersburg because not only was it where one of the nation's major international airports was, but since that city was considered the crown jewel of Russia, I felt that I wanted it to be my introduction and starting point to the country. Besides, I knew that I could more easily find English speaking people to help me if I was in one of the big cities. Here was the strategy I formulated. I would make this trip a total of six weeks from July 15 to August 31. The first four weeks would be in Russia and the last two in Ukraine, due to financial cost and visa limitations. Since the first two primary women lived in Russia, I would split my month there in half, reserving two weeks for each of them. For the third one in Ukraine, I would reserve the next two weeks for her, but not more because by then I knew I would have already spent a lot of money. As backup in case things went wrong and opened up available time, I would bring the contact information for the backup ladies as well as for some local agencies that could arrange on-the-spot introductions. If I did not click with the primary women, and therefore my time with them ended early, then I would use the remaining two weeks I reserved for each of them to visit the backup women, arrange other introductions with the local agencies, or just mingle and meet women there on my own. Here was the outline of the strategy.<br /><br />I. Week One and Two, July 15 to July 31, in St. Petersburg, Russia.<br />A. Primary Plan: Visit Olga and see how things go. Accomodation in hostel because I was on a budget and did not want to pay for an overpriced hotel or apartment. Besides, in a hostel I can meet people and travel around with them, whereas in a hotel and apartment, it would not be as easy to meet people.<br />B. Alternate Plan: If things went wrong, then call my backup lady in the same city, and call some local agencies such as "A Foreign Affair" to arrange more introductions. Or tour the area with people from my hostel or the locals, and meet women there on my own.<br />C. Second Alternate Plan: If plan B didn't get anywhere, then I could just leave early to visit my next girl in Cherepovets.<br /><br />II. Week Three and Four, August 1 to August 14, in Cherepovets, Russia.<br />A. Primary Plan: Visit Julia and her friends and family. Accomodations would either be in Julia's home or in her parents' second flat.<br />B. Alternate Plan: If things went wrong, I had no backups there and no agencies were in the area, since it was a small non-tourist city, so I would just leave early and go to Ukraine to have more time with Elena.<br /><br />III. Week Five and Six, August 15 to August 31, in Mariupol, Ukraine.<br />A. Primary Plan: Visit Elena in Mariupol. Accomodation in hotel she recommended there. If things go well, we might go away together to the beaches of Odessa or city of Kiev.<br />B. Alternate Plan: If things went wrong, I had several other backup girls in other parts of Ukraine that I could go visit. And the contact information for several agencies in the country as well.<br /><br />Now, my objectives here was not necessarily to get engaged during this trip (although I was open to that possibility), but to:<br /><br />1) Narrow down the field to the best candidates for a long term serious relationship/marriage,<br />2) Date a lot of women (which I've always dreamed of doing but never done) and have fun,<br />3) Satisfy my wanderlust for travel, experience another culture, learn things and have new experiences.<br /><br />After doing some research on travel agencies and visas, I got visas for both Russia and Ukraine from a travel agency called GoToRussia.net (recommended to me by the email list), and reserved my plane tickets for July 15 to August 31 through them as well. I would arrive in St. Petersburg, Russia, but my departing flight would leave from Kiev, Ukraine. Originally, I was supposed to fly on Aeroflot, a Russian airline that had the lowest prices on airfare to Russia. However, since I would be returning from Kiev, Ukraine, the Aeroflot flight from there back to the USA would have to land in Moscow first and I would have to transfer flights. Unfortunately, this would mean that I would have to re-enter Russia, which would require a double-entry visa rather than a single-entry visa. (yes, even just transferring flights at the airport counts as a re-entry!) I researched the cost and found that the increase in the price of the double-entry visa made the total expense equal to the higher priced fare on Luftansa airlines, which had a direct flight from Kiev to the USA that wouldn't require a transfer in Moscow. Since the travel agent told me that Luftansa was a better and more comfortable airline, and more reliable as well in terms of its schedule and timeliness, I felt that I might as well just go with Luftansa then. I also brought some gifts, candy, and wine for the three ladies I was going to visit, my big travel guide, pocket Russian-English dictionaries, mini-phrasebooks, and plenty of cash, ATM cards, credit cards, visa documents and papers, passport, and papers with all the ladies' and agencies' contact information on them. Everything was all set, to the best of my knowledge. Whatever happened beyond that would have to be dealt with on the spot and with my resourcefulness (which has always been my forte).<br /><br />The issues that I didn't have the details worked out for were the transportation issues within these two countries. I knew that I would have to ride the train between cities, which was the common and best way, but since it was too much trouble to try to reserve the train tickets beforehand, I knew I would have to figure it out when I got there. I only hoped it wasn't too much trouble. Fortunately, I heard train prices were very cheap. I figured that in St. Petersburg, since the hostel staff spoke English really well, they could help me out, give me directions, or write where I wanted to go on a piece of paper in Russian to take to the train station. And in Cherepovets, I could get Julia or her family and friends to help me buy the train ticket to Ukraine, and just tell them that I wanted to make use of my vacation and tour that country as well. As for Ukraine, I could just get Elena's help in getting train tickets to Kiev for my flight home, which wouldn't require any excuses. The one problem I dreaded was how to contact Elena in Ukraine while I was in Russia. You see, I gave her the impression that I was visiting her first (for obvious reasons) and during the month before visiting her, I knew she would expect some regular phone calls to discuss the plans of my arrival and accomodations. However, since I was to be in Russia for a month before visiting her, I was not sure how I would manage regular phone calls to her, since calling Ukraine from Russia is much much more expensive than you would expect. And besides, I wasn't sure if when I called her from Russia, if I should tell her that I was in Russia and deal with explaining it to her, or if I should pretend that I'm in the USA, in which case I couldn't complain about expensive short phone calls because my calling card from the USA only costed me about 10 cents a minute there. Now this was a sketchy gray area that I wasn't sure how I would deal with. Perhaps, I thought, I could just send her a letter from Russia and explain to her why I couldn't call.WuMasterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533298982880223872noreply@blogger.com0