Looking West through the Curtain

Komrades,

I just finished my first bowl of good ol' Russian Borsh'ch, and boy am I feeling good and beety (and groggy as hell from the million hour train ride here to St. Petersburg). You know, when I emerged for the first time from the St. Petersburg Metro, and began strolling down Nevsky Prospekt, I felt something that I only recall feeling twice in my life.

The first time was when my plane touched down in London the first time I'd gone abroad. I don't recall the intensity, but it must have been great, albeit hampered by the discomfort and discombobulation of air travel. The second was waking up in Turkey and seeing mosques out the window of our slow-moving train. But the Bulgarian borek had gone to my stomach (and out in many other ways), and I was a bit too overcome to be properly moved.

But this time, O, O, O! The glory of it all went to my bones. That most intoxicating of liquors, that most heavy of narcotics, Travel has sunk its claws into me yet again. Not just any travel, mind you. Travel's a tank of gas or a bus ticket... I'm talking about that angels in the architecture, spinning in infinity type of Travel... Quiddity isn't about sex or death. It's about Travel.

That 500 meter walk down Nevsky was one of the most intense of my life. It was a combination of everything - the foreign buildings, the foreign script, the Russians strolling by, and the general naughtiness of it all (Haha, America, I'm in the former USSR. Ooooo, aren't I a bad boy?)

But, O my fingernail biting friends, fear not for me. Russia's not the scary place we were all told (at least not here). People smile here! There are parents strolling with their children! Bread is readily available, although the Russians prefer Pizza Hut these days! Neo-nazi graffiti is no more commonplace than in middle America (and much less so than in most of Europe). Even the bears here are cute and peaceful! I'm as hale and healthy (though pale and smelly) as can be, and I fully expect to return to the real world with a hundred tales of Russian hospitality, warmth, and Vodka. (Probably all in the same sentence)

I'd leave you with one more thought, if it do ya. I went to the Occupation Museum in Riga, Lativa a few days ago. It was all about the Soviet and Nazi expansion into Latvia, the horrors, the loss of national identity, and the Latvians' struggle to win back their freedom. And I wondered, O my equally inquisitive friends, what sort of museums will there be in Iraq about America in 50 years? In 100? Will Abu Ghraib be a popular tourist spot? Will they turn our military bases into open-air markets? Or will there be nothing left to rebel against? Will the cries become silence, and finally acceptance, in the manner of our Native American friends?

Forever following in the footsteps of the Tsars,

Aaron "Reed" Rotsinger