Like many travelers I have often wondered about the people I have met in my journeys; the one who walked me home safely, or the one who offered me a place to stay or made for lively conversation over a cup of tea or glass of wine. As a student of Russian Area Studies I spent the summer of 1993 in Russia, in a program with 50+ American students, many of whose names no longer come to my mind. Still, there are others I met along the way that summer, whose names and faces are so clear to me.
I remember the night I met Yuri. My friend on the program, whose name I do remember (Erin), met him on a bus. He asked if she would like to get together, with promises that he was not looking for anything and could be trusted. Erin asked me to join them since I was Yuri’s age, 24, and had expressed an interest in soaking up the culture and thus meeting the locals.
Yuri came to meet us in his car. This was very cool we thought, and could definitely open up avenues. When we got in the car Yuri told us right away that he had lost sixty percent of his right arm in the army. He never mentioned it again. Perhaps it happened in Afghanistan. (He navigated around this handicap beautifully with a special prosthesis and attitude.) We drove towards the Gulf of Finland, and although Erin and I were unable to verbalize it to each other, we both questioned what possessed us to think it was okay to jump in a car with a stranger and head out for a long drive. But it was okay, and Yuri became our friend.
There were five in our group of friends who spent time with Yuri. We went to the opera, the ballet, picnics and monuments of culture. He made sure we experienced everything he loved about his city. Yuri was also the guy who seemed to make everything happen for us. There was always a feeling of security and some sort of magic when he was around. Restaurants that were closing would stay open, souvenirs we spent time trying to find he would deliver to us. When we left St. Petersburg to spend the second half of the summer in Moscow, he gave us each gifts. Mine included a jewelry box and a children’s book of Russian folktales.
Yuri was easily missed in Moscow, especially as I took on new Russian challenges that included maneuvering around a huge city and working at a new internship. The internship offered me a chance to travel back to St. Petersburg a few weeks later. It gave me the opportunity to see Yuri and meet another Russian friend I can never forget.
I had a first class ticket to St. Petersburg on the overnight train. My previous experiences on overnight trains had been in a regular cabin. The first class ticket bought a bed in a semi private cabin, which was shared by two passengers. From Moscow to St. Petersburg I was to share the cabin with a German businessman. We didn’t speak a common language. The fact that I was sharing a bedroom with this older gentleman was amusing to say the least. But, having already spent 6 weeks in Russia, nothing bothered me too much. As it got to be late, around ten or eleven, my roommate left the cabin and it was hard to tell if he planned on coming back.
This question was answered when a young Russian woman about my age came in with her bags, sat down and began to read a Danielle Steele book in English. Her name was Lena. My Russian was poor, but her English was good so we began to talk. In the morning we continued conversation, even as we pulled into St. Petersburg. There was some time to kill before the trade show so Lena insisted that we have a cup of tea at her apartment rather than hang around the train station. Definitely a better way to spend the next hour!
Lena lived alone in a large one-bedroom apartment, much larger than most apartments I had seen in New York. The bathroom walls had English words taped to them to help her learn the language. I left Lena promising to call her before I returned to Moscow that night. She made a face when she heard I would be seeing a male Russian friend that evening. I assured her with the confidence I had in Yuri that everything would be fine.
Yuri met me right after the tradeshow. As usual I felt relaxed once I saw him. It was a fun night spent at one of his friend’s apartments. There were four of us in our mid-twenties covering topics ranging from what to do with Lenin’s body to who had the coolest denim jacket. I distinctly remember all the sweets being emptied from the cabinets, after being at the table so long. Yuri took me back to the station, and I remembered my promise to call my train friend Lena. He offered to contact her to let her know he returned me safely to the train.
I spoke to Yuri a couple of times before leaving Russia. He told me he had called Lena, and that they would meet in person. I smiled, because it was so Yuri. We kept in contact for a few months after the summer ended and I was back in the States.
When I finished school I got a job at a Russian brokerage firm in New York City. Each fall my company sent me to Moscow for a conference. Then, five years later in 1998, I went back to St. Petersburg for a friend’s wedding. It was hard to think of St. Petersburg and not think of Yuri. I no longer had his contact information, but my colleagues in Moscow were clever and managed to track down a phone number.
Yuri was excited to hear from me and offered to have me picked up at the airport. I wasn’t sure whom to expect at the arrivals terminal in St. Petersburg, until I recognized a woman in the crowd. New hair, new look, it was Lena, my friend from the train. We climbed in her Land Rover and chatted excitedly as we made our way in the direction of the city. It took me a few minutes before it became apparent�.
Lena and Yuri were married and had a 3-year-old son!
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