Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Ukraine's democratic experiment from 2005 to 2010, Russia's experience with democracy
under Boris Yeltsin in the 1990s was miserable—the economy collapsed and people went
hungry. Russians take pride in enduring—certainly until they believe, without any doubt,
that there is something worth fighting for. When I watch Russians go through the motions
of daily life, the question I always imagine on their minds is, “Why take the risk?” Hard-
ship, upheaval, and a feeling of having no control over anything combine to shape the Rus-
sian soul. And the latest difficulty just girds many Russians to endure the next.
I
N FOUR HOURS,
Sergei and I will be back in Yaroslavl. We are seated, sharing one lower
berth, facing our roommates, Ilona and Viktor. Ilona is by the window peering outside
quietly, I imagine, already missing her boyfriend back in Moscow. Viktor is returning from
vacation in Thailand, but he seems melancholy about the trip. As a Russian on the beaches
of Thailand, he felt like an outcast. At one point he had to exchange some Russian money,
but the Thai clerk spoke only Thai and English. He asked several fellow Russian tourists
if they knew English to help, and none did. “Young Russians today have to start learning
English and other foreign languages,” he says. He bemoans how, for decades during Soviet
times, Russia was locked away from the world. Two decades after the Soviet collapse, Rus-
sians are just beginning to travel. But it is taking some adjusting—both for Russians and
for fellow tourists who are often turned off by the Russians they meet. Speaking to Viktor
reminds me of when the antigovernment riots broke out in Egypt, in the early days of the
Arab Spring. Tourists fled from Egypt—except for Russians. Interviewed on the beaches
of Sharm-el-Sheikh, they asked reporters why anyone in their right minds would pick up
and evacuate. They paid for a vacation, desperate for some sunshine. You think just an out-
break of
violence
would cause them to change their plans? Russians
are
a different breed.
But speaking with Viktor was the first time I realized that maybe some don't want to be
and are feeling some discomfort and shame as they try to fit in.
Ilona uses the ladder to climb up onto her bed above Viktor. She reaches to remove
her sweater. Without having to be asked, we men look away—awkwardly and politely—to
give her an ounce of privacy. She curls up beneath the covers. This was the opening we
all needed to politely disengage. Viktor climbs up and prepares himself for bed above me.
I turn the lights off, shut the door, and lock it securely. I am the last to crawl under my
sheets. I tell Sergei, “Spokoynoi nochi,” or good night. He says the same back. The two of
us fall silent. As my eyes begin to close, I see Ilona's face above, caught in the glow of her
cell-phone screen, staring across at Viktor. They begin to whisper to each other quietly in
Russian. I have no idea what they're saying. But these strangers, brought together in close
quarters by fate, are enjoying one another's company.
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