Bye Bye, Vytegra

I woke up early this morning, feverishly conscious that today was my last day in Vytegra and feeling like I had mountains of work to accomplish in very little time. Like a tornado, I attacked my bedroom, packing, organizing, folding, repacking. Then all of a sudden, at 10 a.m., I was done. I had packed up everything, finished and sealed up, 11 hours before my bus was set to depart.

Luckily, the sun was out again today, so I was able to pass the majority of this time outdoors. In the process of running errands, like buying snacks and dramamine for the 10-hour bus ride to Petersburg, I ran into about 3/4 of my acquaintances in Vytegra, who were also out running errands in the nice weather. Some of them were people I see everyday; some I hadn't seen since my very first week here. They were all sad to hear I was leaving and promised to come to the bus station to see me off.

Today being Monday, most everybody I knew had to rush off to work, so my last day was a tad lonely. I walked to the city's northern border and contemplated the landscape there. It was all trees and grass, just like rural Michigan, but it was somehow quieter, a deeper sense of isolation. Or perhaps I was projecting my own feelings onto the countryside. Being the only American living out here, one of very few foreigners, and not quite fluently speaking the language, I have been inescapably conspicuous to the locals, yet entirely distant from them.

Yes, it's definitely time to come home.

When I got tired of walking, I soaked my feet in the cool river and finally finished reading Heart of Darkness. That's where one of my students, Elya, discovered me. She told me she wanted to meet me at the station too, in order to say "bye bye." I have a feeling that, to Russians, the phrase "bye bye" sounds terrifically funny, because they almost always snicker when they say it. I even started to giggle at it. The sounds of my own language amuse me now.

When I got home, Ruslan was waiting for me. I had thought I offended him last night (I should be so lucky), but he acted as naturally as ever—that is, gloomy and untalkative. But I actually enjoyed his company. When he demanded that I tell him "something interesting," I decided to practice making snarky remarks at him, like, "It's interesting how boring you are today, Ruslan." Apparently, this was all he wanted in the first place, because we spent the next hour making wisecracks about each other and having a wonderful time. Fun guy, that Ruslan.

We were only interrupted by the arrival of Tamara Pavlovna and dear old Uncle Venya, who had come to throw me a small going-away party and escort me to the bus station. It couldn't have come off more perfectly. Venya recited a poem he wrote about our travels through the glubinka—I'll have to post it when I get the chance to translate it. It was quite funny and well-written (as best as I can tell). The four of us reminisced about my various adventures in Vytegra and beyond. It was a fantastic way to look back on my trip.

We celebrated for about an hour. I only wish Nina Evgenyevna had been there to give me a proper sendoff. I had tried to wake her, but she had gone to a funeral in the morning, which in Russia apparently means the poor 60-year-old woman was bound to come home screaming drunk. So we let her sleep it off. Too bad; she was an excellent hostess. I would have liked to hug her goodbye.

By the time we got to the bus station, a small crowd had already gathered there to send me on my way. Ivan and Marisha, all of Nina Evgenyevna's friends and family whom I'd met, our neighbors, workers from the museum and the Children's Craft House I worked with during my internship, a Veps woman I met doing my research. If I hadn't been so overwhelmed by it all, I would have taken a picture. It would have been the perfect memento—every aspect of my trip smashed onto one bus platform.

But we were running late, and I had to quickly board the bus, leaving barely enough time to say goodbye to everyone. Just as we were about the leave, my student Elya came running onto the bus to give me a hug. The last words I spoke in Vytegra before I left were in English, addressed to her: "Bye bye." Then we took off.

So now I'm bouncing violently on my way to Petersburg, the dear city of Vytegra some 100 km behind me. I have finished everything I had intended to do there—internship, research, language practice—and so much more. Yet it seems almost unfair that I have to leave, that these people will go on living their lives and I will go on living mine, thousands of miles apart. I hope I will come here again and attempt to pay back some of the hospitality they've shown me. Someday. When I have enough money and a stomach of steel to deal with these roads.

Onward to Petersburg.