Lviv: Seyahat rehberi, fiyatlar ve ücretsiz konaklama · 2026

ЛЧЛена Чернецоваlena_chernetsova · 30 Eyl 2012Oku

The flight is ending, the journey is reaching its logical conclusion. From several thousand feet up, the promised land looks like a dull, gray patchwork quilt of suburban bedroom communities with the occasional bright blue button of a water tower. While the plane is still catching low rain clouds over JFK with its wings, a sharp desire to touch the ground with my own soles and ground myself in this new reality is born, replacing the numbing fatigue. Lera spent the last hour entertaining pierced Italian teenagers (“—What? The whole summer? Oh, no, we’re just here for a weekend in New York for shopping!”), and now she’s out of sight. In this new reality, it’s raining and chilly. We find Lera, nervously joking with each other by the carousel while waiting for our wayward luggage. Back at the Rome airport, we noticed a fabulously beautiful, impeccably stylish Italian flying on our same flight—in the company of his cooing friend. Life, why are you like this? We continue to impolitely admire this phenomenon, a magnificent specimen of the human body and the labors of all the fashion houses of blessed Europe. An ironic fat man at the temporary immigrant registration desk stamps our documents without unnecessary questions. He points a webcam at my face: —One photo, young lady,—I hastily pull off my glasses. A few minutes later, right there at the airport, we have our first encounter with a local monster on clay feet with a lion’s head—an American Russian. An inconspicuous guy in a baseball cap radiates cheerfulness. He methodically calls through our list of motels and finds spots in a student hostel on Amsterdam Avenue. Rare raindrops fly in through the open sunroof of his terrifying green SUV. I try to breathe deeply and carefully, as if getting used to the atmosphere of an alien planet. There must be some special chemical element in the air by which New York air can be easily recognized, even if brought in a tin can to the other end of the world. It’s getting dark. The city across the bridge sparkles with skyscrapers. We drive in and start winding through beautiful and completely identical neon streets. —Two floors in this building belong to Yoko Ono. You know The Beatles, right?—he points to an old brick apartment building with a white convertible parked at the entrance,—it’s the only building that has gas lamps constantly burning on its facade. —Actually, many celebrities have homes in this neighborhood. They even have a council that decides who is allowed to settle here. Madonna was refused. Reputation, you know. He offers gum (“imported”). I run through all the knockout-drug stories in my head and politely decline. Contrary to all warnings and our gloomy looks, the nameless native of Lviv safely delivers us to our destination. He explains things to the American woman at the reception, hands us a business card—just a number, no name or surname—and disappears into the twilight behind the glass door. At the hostel, for $59 a head, we get decent beds, three Australian roommates, and a divine, desired, hot shower with singing Spanish women in the neighboring stalls. We try to figure out the Grey Hound intercity bus system. We are irritated, snapping at each other and the lagging google-maps. Lera is sleeping with her eyes open, leaving behind an autopilot charged with generic affirmative phrases and vague humming. I feel like an unhappy lost child, and I am one. The Australians form a remarkably harmonious trio with their snoring of varying volume and timbre. Our first night in America—and, to be honest, we are not thrilled.

НКНаталия Карпенкоmoscowmain_788129278804 · 3 Tem 2012Oku

We stepped out of the subway, and there it was... Oh my god, we were speechless with delight! New York! The lights! It's insane!!! We started taking photos right away =) Even with our suitcases =)) Right at the station exit) We caught a taxi, explained where we needed to go, got in, and took off. We were driving, and the driver asked us, "Where are you from?" We said, "From Russia." And then he said in Russian, "How are you?" Hahaha, we laughed)) But that was the only phrase he knew) He kept trying to talk to us, and suddenly I just went for it! I started chatting with him, understanding him, and answering his questions))) The girls, damn, were almost silent, but I was just blah blah blah and couldn't stop, I was surprised at myself))) It's awesome =) We arrived at Gregory's place, and while we were unloading from the car, the taxi driver asked us, "How do you say 'Thank you' in Russian?" So I said, "spasibo." He started practicing saying "spasibo," and at that moment Gregory, who was already waiting for us on the steps of his house, walked up and repeated after the taxi driver in Russian, "spasibo." In the end, there were two Americans standing there, taking turns saying to each other in Russian: "spasibo-spasibo," "spasibo-spasibo"))) Hahaha, it's so cute and funny))) We went into Greg's place and started chatting with him. To my surprise, I understood almost everything he said! Wow, it turns out my English isn't as bad as I thought) Greg said to me, "You probably have the best English here?" I said, "No, I don't think so." He said, "Well, you wrote me messages, and they were correct and well-written." I said, "Well, nobody stopped me from using a dictionary or a translator, and I had enough time to think, unlike when speaking))" We sat down, rested a bit, and decided to go for a walk) I mean, how could we not, we hadn't even seen New York yet! Greg called a friend, and we were a little nervous. You never know, they might be maniacs) His friend arrived and said, "Hello, does everyone here speak Russian?" Amazing =) As it turned out, he was born in Ukraine, in Lviv, but has lived in America since he was 3 and knows how to speak Russian, but is afraid to) But despite that, he still speaks very well, I want to speak English like that too)) We chatted with him in Russian the whole time. Bad. No English practice. Greg tried to show me something, tell me something, especially since he was bored among a bunch of Russian speakers, but I was so tired and so relaxed that I couldn't squeeze out a word. We walked through Times Square, although it was 2 AM, so I saw this place differently than others usually do - without a crowd. There was no one there except us and some police and cleaners) Just us and the lights of Times Square))) No one believes me that it's possible to see this place without people))) We talked about Russians in America) Our American friends don't like them, which is not surprising) They consider them people who are very eager to be rich and try to show it in every way - in clothes, lifestyle, behavior, etc. And people like that aren't really liked in America) Well, I don't know, I haven't met any Russians here yet) At the end of the walk, we cheered up our American friends) Dima, that guy from Lviv, gave everyone his e-mail. He dictated it: blah blah blah by Google. At first, we didn't understand, but then it clicked and we said, "Ah, 'sobaka' (dog) gmail.com." He was so surprised, "'Sobaka'?? You call it 'sobaka' in Russia?? Really??" (And by the way, really, why?)) And we started laughing))) And Gregory couldn't understand why we were laughing, since we were speaking Russian. We translated for him - in Russia, it's called "Dog"! He couldn't even believe it))) Hahaha, we laughed from the heart)) Then the multi-hour flight and fatigue caught up with us, so we said goodbye to Dima and went to Greg's. We finally took a shower, unfolded the sofa, and the three of us lay down on it to sleep) Finally, this May 22nd is ov