Odessa: Guida di viaggio, prezzi e alloggi gratuiti · 2026

АКАся Кандауроваsamara_8520614631 · 22 giu 2012Leggi

So, I've been in Maine for almost two weeks now—the "attic" of the United States, the northeasternmost point, bordering Canada and the ocean coast. I had dreamed of coming here since last year, when fate, in the form of the International Exchange Center and a ready offer, threw me into Texas—which I don't regret. If only because that summer, the Great American Dream took root in me, resulting in a month of diligent and this time independent job searching, "blindly" wandering through labyrinths of online forms, and finally, on the very last day, a letter from my future employer. That's how American dreams tend to come true. Why Maine specifically? Honestly, I don't know. I was just looking at a map of the country, not knowing anything about any of the states, when suddenly one, in the upper right, looked back at me. Fate, as Evdokimov used to sigh. Now, of course, one can find rational explanations: like the fact that in the northern border regions, they are supposed to speak French, which I once liked, and that the Atlantic is nearby. And now I already feel and understand that there is really something to this—being on the edge in the north and east; and the state motto, Dirigo—"I lead"—sounds, damn it, so romantic: it turns out that with every rotation of our planet, it is Maine that leads America into a new day and sees the sun first. When zooming in on the map, another feature was found, and as a philologist, I fell in love with the names of the towns and places. "It probably affects one's worldview," I wrote to my employer in the spring, "when you live next to your own little Poland, Paris, China, and Oxford." There are also wonderful Cherry Fields and Green Forks here. True, it later turned out that their own Parises and Polands (as well as Odessas and Saint Petersburgs) are scattered all over America, but it didn't matter anymore. So, I am in the USA for the second time. We flew into Boston in rain and cold, and the three hours in the drizzling, shivering capital of Massachusetts were not memorable for anything. Except perhaps that the girls wear rubber boots—and this is right now, on the eve of Pushkin's birthday! From all this, a five- or six-hour Amtrack, Downeaster train, which connects two states, takes you to Portland. I save five dollars and take the 5:40. The clean and very comfortable, spacious Amtrack for some reason travels backward—well, okay. The view from the window is currently according to Wikipedia: "Over half the territory is occupied by forests." Yes—coniferous, deciduous, in which even nostalgic birches flicker, as well as rivers and lakes, lakes... Beauty, I can imagine how in clear weather the sun and clouds are reflected here on the surface of the water—like in a mirror, and a mirror as far as the eye can see. And now the weather is such as happens for some reason every time Harry Potter goes to school—gloomy and cloudy (by the way, the older the grade, the darker the clouds); so the train in my consciousness, which hasn't seen dreams in two days, turns into the Hogwarts Express, and it seems that the castle towers are about to rise above the lake. But the architecture presents other wonders. At several stations in a row, there are buildings like abandoned workshops of an old factory—long red brick buildings with half-broken windows. Not renovated, not demolished... semi-ruined, as if that's how it should be. Well, at least under the gray clouds, they look truly impressive. At the small, neat, and very beautiful stations, one or two people get off the carriage, take out umbrellas, and disappear into the fog and drizzle, behind which their town lies. On the road through the rain, pieces of streets are visible—winding, drowning in greenery, and for some reason reminding me of Europe. There were none like these in Texas, dry and drawn with a ruler, just as there was no such weather and, apparently, nothing like this at all. This is, in general, apparently, a completely different America, which I will

ККириллstriklend · 28 ott 2009Leggi

In New York, we head to the customs officers' counters. We get checked, and a native American, Mikhail L. Shulman, asks if we want to stay. After finding out he’d been to Odessa for about 20 years and getting our stamps, we head to the subway. A guy approaches, says he’s meeting students, and offers a unique bus to the city center for just 15 dollars. He also says it’s too early (9 AM), the subway isn’t running, it’s expensive, it’s dangerous, and it’s better to go with him. As intuition suggested, and experience later confirmed, in America, Russians only try to bring other Russians down. Sometimes it’s better not to deal with them (us) at all. But that’s only sometimes) We thank him and head to the subway. The train to it (AirTrain) is cheap, the subway is a couple more bucks, and an hour and twenty minutes later, we are in the center of a modern Carthage, Novgorod, etc., all in one, or rather at Port Authority (where the Greyhounds leave from), where we had booked tickets with a 50% discount 3 weeks ago. The bus is at 6 PM, so there’s time to walk around. We buy a phone, don’t leave our bags in storage (6 whole dollars per bag, crazy!!)), call home, and go to Times Square. I won’t talk about the wandering. Tired after the madness in London, we look at everything quite skeptically. Although America greets us with wonderful weather (that’s how it is here, don’t pay attention))), the City doesn’t impress. Skyscrapers look, strangely enough, familiar. The mass of different nationalities on the streets is no longer surprising after the capital of England, where everything is even more colorful and turbaned. Rap on the streets has been boring since the days of friendship with the "neighborhood boys," so we see the Statue of Liberty, walk around the center, eat our supplies, and get on the bus. The bus allows a maximum of 2 bags per person, the rest is for a large surcharge. We get lucky - we have exactly 6 bags, so we sit down and go. But New York is cool, we just didn’t have enough time then. To feel it, you need at least 3 days. Walk around, go into the black and Chinese neighborhoods, clubs and churches, wander through the crazy streets of Manhattan and meet the morning in Central Park, get into a couple of scrapes, and spend the night on the banks of the Hudson. In general, New York turned out to be more worthy than what we could offer it then. We messed up, I agree) But we thought we would visit it on the way back, and for now.... We are going. The first 15 minutes we intend to watch the USA, proud of the path (as it became clear later, actually very short) that we have to travel. However, after 15 minutes, we get sleepy and... The driver’s voice wakes us up - some stop. Night. Connecting bus in 2 hours. We sit, we sleep... We get on, we go, we sleep... This repeats a couple of times. Waking up periodically, we see the same greenery and hills outside the window. It starts to remind us of Russia (Oh, how many more times will this happen!!)) In the end, having surprisingly easily slept for 18 hours, we get out in Myrtle. I never thought I could travel so much by bus. From this moment on, I believe that everything will be super in the car too. It was even more, but that’s later, and here.. - Here! Finally!! American life has begun! Now it’s just us and America! One on one! Let’s breathe in deeply! (metaphorically, since the humidity here is such that for the first week you will feel like an asthmatic).) Now english only! Change the way you think by the way you speak!!! "Hey guys, don't you need housing?" - suddenly a RUSSIAN voice rings out from a group of young people meeting the bus. "I might have some work" - another echoes. We walk away in shock. A third one approaches and whispers, handing over a business card: "It’s cheaper with me." A fourth offers cars, a fifth again housing, a sixth just says his name is Pasha (or Kolya, something familiar, in general) . Well, damn!! Yes, yes, America, it’s like that))) Then began the o

Rravik15 giu 2009Leggi

I've wanted to take photos since I was young. In the fifth grade, I signed up for a photography club. My childhood friend, Antoshka Koshelev, signed up too. And Seryoga, my brother, who was in the third grade at the time. Maybe some other friends too... I don't remember exactly. Before that, and for a bit after, I went to a 'young carpenter' club... There was a kind-hearted grandfather who led it. And because he was always kind to me, I later returned there again. But photography! The photo world was mysterious in many ways. Back then, obviously, not only had no one heard of digital cameras, they probably hadn't even been invented yet! Color cameras were a great rarity. It was considered very cool to have one. Or maybe it was just the film that was color? And only that was a rarity? In short, we started going to this club. My memory immediately brings up a room with red lighting! I loved being there! We felt like little wizards, preparing trays with solutions, moving photo paper from one liquid to another in the necessary sequence, gradually watching as an image that was recently just on film magically appeared in enlarged form on the sheet!!! It was magical! Our parents bought Seryoga and me the cheapest black-and-white (that's what we always called it) camera. We arrived at class with it. It was called 'Smena'... Very Soviet. Our parents didn't have much money, and they thought photography might just be a short-lived hobby for us. And therefore, they didn't see the point in spending a lot of money on it. And we only shot two rolls of film with that camera, no more. It was bad. Inconvenient to maintain (use). And to buy film, you had to look for it. And it was expensive, too. In short, our hobby withered. Then crowds started coming to the club, and we didn't like that either. When we started, there were about six of us. And that suited us just fine. A couple of shots we took ourselves remained as a memory of the club. And that first camera still lies unused at our parents' house, somewhere in a closet. However, I don't know about Seryoga, but personally, my interest in photography never faded. I first got a camera suitable for more or less normal photography, even if it was a point-and-shoot, but a decent one (with auto-rewind of frames and film rewind upon completion) when I was seventeen. It was from a famous brand, imported. I liked it! And before that, for many years, I only dreamed of having my own camera. Pavel and I, often fooling around and playing, imagined how great it would be to just take a photo 'right now'. He lived and still lives in his own house in Kopeysk. He has a bathhouse near the house. There were mirrors everywhere in the anteroom and in the house. We loved posing in front of them for a long time, changing 'outfits' and accessories. Sometimes with tape recorders in our hands, on our shoulders. Sometimes with pistols. Or trying to look like famous or imaginary superheroes. Or lathering our beards with shampoo foam to see how we would look with a beard in the 'photos'? We tried everything, imagining that 'these' were the photos we were getting. It was fun. Only a real camera was missing. Although, our imagination wouldn't have been satisfied by a dozen thirty-six-frame rolls of film! Well, we hadn't heard anything about digital ones, or even 'Polaroid' back then. At seventeen, I got a new friend, Dimka Sogrin (it was with him that we vacationed in Odessa in 2002, at my aunt's). Somehow, Dimka and I gathered all our films and spent the whole evening, until the very morning, 'stamping' those shots we wanted to print! The photos turned out exclusively black and white due to the lack of color photo paper. That was one of those days in my life that you remember forever. By then, I was only shooting on color film. I don't share the love many people I know have for black-and-white shots. What do they find in them?! I only like color ones! I lost that camera in Odessa. In the summer of 2002. My bag tore, and the

Rravik15 giu 2009Leggi

MEETING ALEXEY Saturday, December 6th. We finally met! I had been waiting so long for him to arrive, but we only managed to see each other today, the day before they set off for the South Pole. I was starting to think I’d miss out entirely. I was looking forward to it, but the situation is easy to understand. And, honestly, there’s nothing to be offended by. We aren’t friends yet. We’ve only written about ten letters to each other, which only qualifies us as good acquaintances. And besides, meeting in person gives a completely different impression of a person than letters do. That’s a fact! And how did Alexey spend these days? Well, hanging out with his crew from the ship. And with Katyushka, Lizka, and Edward. Probably with some other local friends and acquaintances too. I get the feeling he had the most intense and best time with Liza. They are best friends, after all! And that’s so sweet, it’s impossible to be offended by it! Friends, as I know from experience, are people who have 'clicked.' People who electrify each other, people who are close and have a wonderful time together! So I was genuinely happy for them. 'When they meet up with Lizka,' Katyushka said emotionally while the three of us—her, me, and Lesha—were walking today, 'something incredible happens! Both of them are broke, they blow everything, money just flies away! They go shopping, Liza says: "I don’t need anything!" Then you look: they come out with bags full of stuff.' 'We love to shop!' Alexey adds, smiling kindly and a bit shyly. I must say, Lesha made a much better impression on me than I expected. ABOUT TODAY Woke up at seven. Yesterday was a bit tough, recovering from two days of work, all that stuff. My head was buzzing all morning today. Met up with Katyushka and Kristina. Kristina has been hanging out with Sarah—her friend—and some new friends most of the time lately. So I don’t see her very often, which is a pity. It feels unpleasant. I’m jealous of her because of all these foreigners. After all, Kristina is one of us! Of course, I understand that these feelings of mine are bad, selfish. It’s just that I feel good with her and want to talk more, but it doesn’t work out. My efforts to see her more often are in vain for now. But jealousy is wrong. And time will tell how things actually turn out later. We had a picnic. We grabbed a watermelon and sat in Sea Point Park, on the ocean shore. We asked questions, told each other how things were going. About who is thinking of going where next: me... well, you know; Katya—to Canada, Kristina—to India. After this conversation, I wanted to go to India more than before, too. But not to Canada. It’s not warmer than our Urals everywhere there in winter. And in some places, it’s even colder. We’ll travel, we’ll wander the world. And then we can go home. To our native land. We chatted, joked, and laughed. Katya told us how much fun Lesha and Liza had yesterday. So much so that her phone got stolen, and he lost his. In one evening! Around two o'clock we headed out, Kristina to her friends, Katya and I to meet Alexey. Katya took the bus, I went to get my bike and rode it. On the way, I stopped by to see Kirill; I burned a couple of discs for him and gave him my camera. He worked as a photographer in Odessa (did I mention that?). He loves photos too, but had never used a digital camera. 'Here, take it! You’ll fix it and use it!' I handed him the little gift. I don’t have money for repairs here anyway, I don’t want to take it home broken, and this way, maybe I’ll do a good deed for a good person. 'I’ll definitely fix it! Thanks!' Kirill replied. And I left. To meet Katya and Alexey at the Waterfront. And Alexey, as I already noted above, immediately made a good impression on me, at first sight. We got on a sightseeing tour bus around Cape Town, around the local mountains, and took off. The bus was an exact copy, only new, of the English double-decker buses. And for the first time, I was riding on top of such a bus! H

ККсенияTrix33311 · 2 ago 2012Leggi

You know, I was having lunch in the living room today and watching TV. Suddenly, one of the neighbors switched to Discovery. There was a historical program about the Great Patriotic War. Some guy with a cheerful voice was talking about how people were dying, while images of destroyed Leningrad, Odessa, Smolensk flashed on the screen... And there I am, sitting in Africa next to foreigners, watching all of this. I felt amazing emotions. Truly amazing. Seeing my native places, especially during the War, which all Russian people hold dear... in short, I can't even describe it. I've only been here for... pff... a week and a half! And I already miss you. I miss you all so much, my dear ones! I was watching the sunset again today and thinking, if only you could all be here with me for just a minute! You know, watching the wonders of nature is extremely pleasant. But sharing your emotions from these wonders with family and friends is even better) I might be a whiner, but I'll tell you for sure - it's hard. It's hard to be alone) A conversation with a Russian person is a real stroke of luck for me! So yes, I miss home. And I think about my Motherland all the time)

АГАлександр Горбачевmenus12 · 10 giu 2010Leggi

A rather massive brain-shaking experience, back when we were on our way from Kings Highway to Coney Island, was caused by an area crowded with people in small caps or black suits, bowler hats, and funny side curls. We walked for quite a long time, passing through many ethnic neighborhoods, like Chinatowns, black neighborhoods, Turkish settlements... but this area was the biggest of all we passed. Of course, it would be strange to be surprised by a Jewish quarter, since New York is just like that, multinational. Having reached 'Russia' (Brighton Beach), we sort of felt like we were in our own pot, however, going for a walk along that same Coney Island, a rabbi will still walk past you every 5 minutes. The owner of our apartment didn't raise any suspicions at first either. His name is Alexander, he's from Odessa, an accent... well, the guy has been living in America for 20 years, so what now. By the way, while looking for an apartment in the 'Russkaya Reklama' newspaper, the Captain noted many ads stating that the place has Russian TV. We have it at home too. Actually, after these lines, you just want to slap on a demotivator with the caption 'RUSSIAN TV IN AMERICA... so Russian'. While the salt is still on the wound, let's lament about local television. This message is primarily addressed to journalism students whose specialization is actually television: GO TO AMERICA TO LIFT THIS SHAMBLES!!! THE CAPTAIN ORDERS! Briefly about the sad stuff: besides the fact that our native Channel One and NTV are broadcast here (maybe something else, I didn't look into it), there is a separate Russian-language channel RTVi. An absolutely wasted channel, where news about the world in general and ISRAEL is constantly spinning. Fine, screw it, about Israel, so be it. But the trolls that sit there... the Captain is outraged. These dimwits not only !read! the text with stutters, pauses, constant slips of the tongue, and grammatically incorrectly in terms of the Russian language, but every news anchor also thinks it's necessary to post their own opinion about what's happening at the end and insert a couple of moronic jokes. And when the number of trolls in the studio exceeds two per program, you hide your hands in your pockets so as not to break the TV with something. You can't switch to another channel because Uncle Sasha (the landlord) has to be aware of all events in Israel and necessarily comment in detail on every word of the anchors or journalists. MY EYES! In short, this is a wasted parody of the American style of hosting TV shows by illiterate, unprofessional trolls. Better kill yourselves against a wall, but don't watch this channel, it will scratch your brain. Everything is clear with this.