"What are we doing here?" is the first question Maureen, my dear friend and fellow traveler, asks me, only half-joking, after we finally make it through passport control upon landing in Moscow. We had just spent the past ten minutes or so debating which line we were supposed to go through to officially enter the country, as one said "Russian Citizens" another said "Diplomats" and the last was utterly incomprehensible to us. We chose the diplomat line and, after a mature round of "No Nose Goes" between Maureen, Patrick, and I, Maureen begrudgingly approached the passport control officer first. We were asked a few questions and, wanting to hurry the process along, I said yes in response to everything. In hindsight, that was probably a poor choice as I didn't actually understand anything that was being asked of me, but it's over now so.. it's probably okay. After collecting our bags, we were met by Irina, the head of the program in Moscow, who continues to amaze me with her patience and kindness, even though guiding us Americans through Moscow is equivalent to the task of herding deaf, illiterate cats into a small cardboard box. I guess cats are illiterate to begin with, but I really want to stress the point that I can barely read anything here. "What on earth were you doing these past two years in Russian class?", is a question you may be pondering at the moment. I wish I could satisfactorily answer this for you but, the fact of the matter is, if you were to ask me that question in Russian, I would probably respond with "yes" just to hurry the process along. Following a long, bumpy, agonizingly slow taxi ride, I arrived at my host mother's apartment. She is truly wonderful and, by combining her broken English and my broken Russian, we can sometimes understand each other. After attempting to nap, I was met by the group, comprised of myself, four other Dickinson students, and Patrick's host brother, Ivan. We walked to the Red Square and around Moscow. Ivan attempted to speak with me several times but, at this point, I had not slept properly in two days and had to ask him to repeat himself often. After a while, he told me that it was okay to just smile and nod in response, which I would have found offensive if that hadn't already been my employed tactic when I didn't understand what was being asked. From that point on, whenever we happened to fall in to step beside one another, he would simply point out words that were the same in English and in Russian, such as "pancake", "milkshake", etc. I still don't know if we're friends or not. When it was time to go home, we walked to the metro station, upon which it dawned on me that I did not know where I lived, or how to get there, or even how to buy a metro ticket. This realization incited a mini meltdown, prompting Ivan to gently take my money from my hand and go buy a ticket for me as I stood there laughing nervously/hysterically. After which, he very slowly, and with almost unecessary care, placed the ticket and change in my hands and assured me that he and Patrick would escort me home. I eventually made it home safely, after taking 5 minutes to open the door to the apartment building (the lock was confusing!) and then walking up an extra flight of stairs and attempting to enter the wrong apartment and then circling back and basically making a complete fool of myself. It really was not my best moment. Anyways, I'm off to delight my host mother's granddaughter and her boyfriend with my broken sentences, nervous laughter, and border-line aggressive hand gestures! Here's to hoping I can find my way home tomorrow.
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