Perhaps Larissa from Dr. Zhivago sat on this very train, in this very cabin crossing the country many years ago. The beriozka trees, or birch trees, ripe with green summer foliage meander past the dust stained windows of my cabin. The occasional dacha flickers in and out amidst the branches as though hide and seek were the game of choice here in the Russian countryside. Who lives there now? Side by side: old and new, big and small cabins stand side by side, like Cinderellas and step sisters lined up at the ball. It’s nearly 10 p.m., and the sky is just slowly growing gray and cobalt, a light peach mingling on the horizon above the green caps of the forest. Oh, how lovely and inspiring. The tea is hot, and the cookies are sweet, served with a delightful smile from the lady in uniform.

I arrived at the Sheremyetevo airport 35 hours ago. My seat mate from NY was a Russian Jewish immigrant named Allan. He was born in Ekaterinburg and has not been back for nearly 20 years. Today, he practices psychology with his Ukrainian wife in Santa Barbara. This trip will be a catharsis for him, as he returns to his motherland to retrieve the skeletons from his closet and bury the hatchet of his youth, one spent as a Jewish boy in an anti-semitic world in the middle of Siberia. Our conversation was philosophical for most of the journey, as we touched upon relationships, spirituality, education, capitalism and the fine art of drinking just enough to sleep, but not enough to get sick on a plane! They're now charging $5 per alcoholic beverage on trans-Atlantic Delta flights! Wish I'd known, I would have stopped and picked up a 4 pack of mini-red wines at the supermarket.

I have tried to open my eyes and ears to what I see and hear right now, but so many memories of my former life come flooding back to me. I see the past in my present, as I sit beside Barry, who sees only what is there now. Barry arrived on the same Delta flight from New York. He’s another volunteer with ACDI/VOCA and this is his first trip to Russia. How fascinating to spend my first day in Russia with a seafood processor and professor from North Carolina who has never stepped foot in Russia and doesn’t know a word of Russian! I have contemplated becoming a tour guide for Americans who want to come here, and after the profuse gratitude that Barry bestowed upon me, I think I should take this idea more seriously.

Upon arrival, I noticed immediately the patience of the passengers waiting their turn to get off the plane. I remember a time when nudging, defined as just short of shoving the person in front of you, was the norm. The line at passport control went slightly more quickly, and the light fixtures seemed to be a bit brighter. I was prepared to bribe the trolley person in baggage claim, when I saw a sign in Russian AND English that read, “free carts.” So, I put my money away and went over to fill out my customs card. I figured I would have plenty of time to retrieve my luggage, which would normally have taken 30 more minutes, but I had to rush over to grab my bag before it went around the carousel again! Boy, have times changed.

As I approached the 3 men at the green channel, I asked them in Russian as I handed them my customs declaration, “don’t you need this?” They looked at me with expectation that I was going to declare I was carrying guns or pot, then proceeded to read my declaration, rolled their eyes and handed it back to me. Now, I am starting to feel stupid. Thank goodness Sergei was there with an ACDI/VOCA sign. I might have tried to haggle with an official cabby, offending his yellow and black checkered good senses and his accurate little counterbox. Where's the mafia?

Driving down Leningradsky Shosse from Sheremyetevo airport, we hit horrible traffic. It’s summertime and that means millions of tourists and travelers bursting the edges of the highways around the city. As I was telling Barry a story, and I told him many in 35 hours, I gasped, “oh, my God,” in mid sentence as I noticed an enormous mall and cineplex on the left hand side of the highway. I almost thought somehow I was tricked and the Delta pilot had returned me to San Francisco and I was on 880 North just past the Dunbarton Bridge.

I tried so hard to anticipate seeing my 6th place of residence in Moscow along Leningradsky, and it seemed to be forever. We nearly passed it before I recognized it. IKEA was there before I left and seemed to be the same. A few new Mcdonald's as well as the enormous glitzy Audi and Mercedes dealerships lined the highway.

The real shock arrived when we emerged from Teatralnaya metro and something seemed to be missing. I asked several people, and indeed, the Moskva hotel was in that spot! I guess I’ll have to update my slide show, since THAT building no longer exists. Nor does the Intourist hotel. I’m beginning to feel a lot like Allan, although I have relatively young skeletons to dredge up.

We arrived at the Bega hotel next to the Hippodrome. They gave me a credit card type key, the ones you find in all hotels in America, instead of a clunky old Soviet key. My room was small and simple, but if I were a horse lover, the view was spectacular. I noticed immediately that I could get a wireless connection to the internet, so I signed myself up. I can’t complain. I can’t believe it, Moscow is truly almost like any other city in the civilized world! That’s exactly what Barry kept saying.