Russia. The country that had enticed me in the 1980s and 1990s was no longer the taboo fascination of American underdogs. Going there now was a product of too-good-to-be-true airfare (thanks, Delta!) and the coordinated motivations of some friends, rather than any internal impulse to run towards the political fire that everyone was sprinting to escape.
The impetuous ingrate in me shrugged my virtual shoulders, packed my bags and went. No research, no planning, no inspirational Pinterest boards to get the creative juices flowing. I figured I would follow someone else’s lead, take pictures, and it’d be a good few days eating new foods where I don’t have to think about work, and maybe I’d get a matryoshka doll along the way.
My classic American fascination with the Soviets all started as a child growing up at end of the Cold War.