И я не знаю, как мне прожить следующий день

Heeeyy... So, yeah, I haven't written anything here in about three months, but I haven't really felt too bad about it. The blog was really a Russia-specific thing, and I never intended to keep it going after I got back. I guess there are about two weeks at the end of my trip that I never wrote about here, but I am definitely not going to try and recount them in any lengthy-matter. In a nutshell, I did this: Went to Murmansk, came back to St. Petersburg in time for Emily's art show, then spent about 5 more days in the city staying at a hostel and going around visiting and re-visiting a few last places (Hermitage, Russian Museum, etc.). It was a nice end to the whole trip. I got back on May 27th, and since then I've just been hanging around Corvallis, working for OSU in a laboratory aiding in Swiss Needle Cast research (it's noting exciting, you wouldn't want me to explain it or anything). But, anyways, the main reason I wanted to make one lats post here (for now, anyways) was to post this essay I wrote for an essay contest through the International Programs department at U of O. It was actually a photo and essay contest, and I think all 5 of the photos I submitted are on my flickr account. The essay is about my trip to Murmansk, and because the essay guidelines limited the length to 1000 words, it forced me to be succinct (something you all know I was never good at) but I was really pleased with the final result. I turned in the essay in early July but have yet to hear of the contest results. So, who knows if it won or not. So, here is my final entry in the "Austin in Russia" blog (for the time being, anyways). I may very well resurrect this blog the next time I find myself in Russia or in any other part of the world which, hopefully, will be the case in the not too distant future. So, thanks for reading, and enjoy my essay, "Alone at the Top of the World":

“What the hell was I thinking?” I asked myself this question repeatedly as the train lurched slowly passed the abandoned train yards and withering industrial relics that litter the outskirts of the city. However ironically appropriate, the somber violin music weeping from the cabin’s speakers only exacerbated the already dismal scene outside. The forty or so Russian soldiers – with whom I had just shared an open-air train car for the past 28 hours – were getting restless as our final destination drew nearer, and as this uncomfortable restlessness permeated throughout the cabin I couldn’t help but wonder, “Why did I chose to come here?” I had just finished my term abroad in St. Petersburg, Russia and found myself with two extra weeks on my hands. Originally, my plan for after the program was to travel throughout Russia and Eastern Europe with my friend and fellow program participant Ruth. Unfortunately, that plan was shattered along with Ruth’s tibia when she was hit by a car two weeks before our trip was to begin. This, compounded with an unexpected heap of good old-fashioned Russian bureaucracy regarding my visa, meant that my remaining time had to be cut back drastically. Still anxious to travel, I ended up more-or-less on a whim buying a ticket by myself to Murmansk, a city about 840 miles north of Petersburg and well within the Arctic Circle. Why Murmansk? To me it seemed so isolated and illusive way up there, a place that few would ever get the chance to see. I guess it was the same reason why I had chosen Murmansk for my city-project in my Russian class back at the U of O the year before. Here was my opportunity to actually visit this distant and compelling place, quite possibly the only one I might ever have, and at the last minute I decided to take it. As I pulled into the Murmansk train station alone all those hours later, I was really beginning to question my judgment.
That same dreary music poured from the speakers at the station as I stepped into the city in a bewildered daze. Murmansk is by no means an attractive city. Founded only ninety years ago, its architectural heritage certainly leaves something to be desired. To the east the skyline is dominated by large, blocky Soviet-era apartment complexes sprawled across rolling hills of tundra, and to the west by a large industrial port along the Kola Gulf, with its bulky cranes and smog-spewing factories. Lonely and intimidated by my surreal new surroundings, the only thing I really needed was a good night’s sleep, so I headed straight for the city’s central hotel. Despite the difficulties of trying to sleep during 24-hour daylight, and the disheartening experience of having a hotel employee enter my room demanding to know why I had come to Murmansk, I hit the town the next morning with renewed optimism and enthusiasm. It quickly shriveled, however, after wandering alone down desolate back alleys and past crumbling buildings and dead dogs in the freezing May weather. Now, I’m into urban decay and gritty realism as much as the next guy, but being there, all alone at the top of the world in a seemingly neglected and forgotten city, it really started to wear on me. Fortunately, an opportunity to see another side of Murmansk had already been provided.
It turns out that a friend of mine in Petersburg had a cousin named Marina who lives in Murmansk, and when she heard about my trip she gave me Marina’s phone number and encouraged me to call. At first I wasn’t sure if I should or not, but after a day of wandering the city alone I was desperate for some human interaction. I called her that afternoon and we arranged to meet in the hotel lobby later that evening. We went for a walk through the city, down the same streets I had walked down earlier. She spoke no English, but my Russian was decent enough to maintain an interesting conversation, so we walked and talked about the lives we each lived on different sides of the world. She had no family in Murmansk and had moved there by choice four years earlier, which I found to be rather interesting given my early impressions of the city. She said she loved Murmansk, and would never want to go back to big-city life in Petersburg. Like most Russians, she came across as a bit standoffish at first, but revealed herself to be truly kind and generous once I got to know her a little better, and I was so grateful that she had taken the time to make a complete stranger feel welcome in her city. We parted ways that evening, and I returned to my room refreshed and willing to give the city another try.
The next day I spent exploring the city on my own again, but this time it was different. The weather was warmer, the buildings seemed prettier, and I just felt more enthused about being there. After meeting Marina, Murmansk seemed much less lonely and inhospitable. Now with a human face, the city felt to me much more dynamic and real than it had before; a city like any other, inhabited by normal people who are happy to be living there. My experience in Murmansk proved to be a microcosm of my overall experience in Russia. It can seem intimidating and overwhelming at first, and it’s easy to give up early and write the place off entirely, but if you scratch the surface a bit and really try to get to know it, the experience can be very rewarding. Beneath Murmansk’s cold and grim exterior, I discovered a wonderfully unique place where the pretense of isolation and illusiveness is humbly demystified. I spent only three days in Murmansk, but it was probably the most rewarding experience of my time abroad, and proved a fitting conclusion to one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.


-Austin