Hello everyone,
It has been a long time since I last wrote on this blog. I came back to Costa Rica in November 2011, finished university, started working as a teacher in San Jose, then Nosara and finally in Moscow.
Living in a foreign country was not as easy as I thought. Perhaps because traveling makes you some sort of guest and being static in one place, working, makes you an immigrant. This created a completely different atmosphere. Is the interaction deeper and more meaningful that just being a traveler? I am not sure it is so; after all, every place, every day is our experience and whether pleasant or not, it would be a rather egocentric thing to say that a place is merely what we lived while being there.
What I can say, though, is that Moscow was an intense experience, full of glories and disgraces. I am thankful for this; for the great and generous people I met, and for the unpleasant moments too for they helped become more honest to myself. In fact, what I learned from Moscow is what set us apart.
I quit my job, quit comfort, a routine; I quit the possibility of building a good-looking resume. I quit making money without even working that hard. I quit spring and summer after enduring winter. I quit my goals because as I was reaching them, I realized they had become meaningless. And by then, there was no time for excuses or procrastination – April 28, to Mongolia.
Since then, time is once more what it used to be. Not an annoying tic tac, irreverent, that limits our existence, but rather a lover of space (distance), of the moon and the sun, the wind and the rain. Time is now like a thread that joins events as it pleases, sometimes close together, sometimes far apart, sometimes one on top of the other, or scattered around. No need to be surprised, time being a thread can fold, divide, break, tangle, and even fly away with the winds. Why not?
So today is May 21, just three weeks on the road? And here I am, in Yekaterinburg, half my way to Mongolia. I have discovered Russia is mysterious. Now I am certain Moscow is not Russia and that there is a lot more to discover although it is indeed hard to unveil.
As I often say, I am going step by step (шаг за шагом). I can feel that the further east I go, the deeper and more intense my interactions become, both within and without. I don't know what to tell you in detail, as you know, I am always surrounded by the nicest and most generous individuals. But well, not to let you down, here you have two little stories:
Voronezh: As I am hitchhiking to Saratov, outside the city, a police officer comes to me. I can see his big smile from far and his curious eyes. We look into each other and I stop hitchhiking waiting for his approach. We shake hands and then he asks me if I play the guitar, followed by a shy request to play one song for him. I did so, and I couldn't stop laughing at myself while singing this song about a bull that is in love with the reflection of the moon. So I played the whole song; cars passing by and maybe people feeling just like me – puzzled. He went away satisfied and I continued my task, but not for long though. He would come again and ask me to go to the military post where they needed to check my documents.
I come in this small office with two military officers, I present my passport upon their request and then one of them asks me to sit and answer some questions. The questions seemed funny to me (or at least what I understood as my Russian is extremely basic), but the officer was serious, very serious. One question after another, I think I am doing great. "So you write?", easy question, "Yes, yes, I like it very much". "I see, and certainly you have a camera, don't you?". "Well, yes, I do". And then, he frowns upon me, the air goes thick in the small office; "so, what do you think about Ukraine?". Then, my friends, my Russian skills succumbed. There were several other follow up questions I can't recall and I have no idea how I answered, but the fact is that after trying to explain myself really hard, I felt how the room was slowly steaming off. "So how come you speak Russia?" – he asked at last, and I answered the only way I can: "well, as you can see, I speak Russian without words and without grammar". A smile came to his face, a handshake between us and the golden words "have a nice journey" were given to me as a sign of freedom.
Chelyabinsk: In a neighboring city (400 kms away that is) I was warned Chelyabinsk is a serious city with though people. "Smiles you won't find in the streets". To some degree, it seemed true. When I took a marshrutka to the center, I accidentally hit someone with my backpack and that almost led to a fight. In many cities, people look at you with curiosity, but not here. That day, Ufa had a warm sunny day, +30 C; it was rainy and cold in Chelyabinsk. The strong winds made +5 C feel like 0 C. So yes, life is hard here, and I heard a few stories, far more humane and ordinary than the meteorite event, that prove these people have gone through hardship. Nevertheless, in some mysterious way, Chelyabinsk showed its warmest and kindest side. Stone cold and sheltered like an iron fortress, at first, like a spring flower it slowly opened. Those who helped me, who hosted me, gave me rides or simply smiled at me, did it in the utmost sincere and profound manner. It seems as though, this city was a small sample of the Russian character, cold outside and unselfishly warm inside.
Greetings,
Pedro Acevedo.
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