Welcome Back - Now, What Are You Doing Here?

I really wasn't fair to Nizhni Novgorod. I should have paid more attention. I should have had more stamina. Instead, at a critical decision point I pulled the plug on more time in the city formerly known as Gorky.

It happened at the ticket counter in the train station. When the agent asked when I wanted my ticket to Moscow, I went through a list of considerations: my 6am arrival, my 12 hours of wandering around the city, my aching feet, my sore shoulders. In a flash, I answered "Tomorrow."

So I was heading back to Moscow on Thursday - a day earlier than planned. It was chickening out, for sure, but in the grand scheme of things it was a minor few hours at the end of a month of travel. That's what I tell myself.

I explored the city a bit more after dinner, but I was back at the station early the next day for the 5-hour trip to Moscow. The train wasn't a sleeper, but I stretched out and slept anyway. I had visions of Moscow in my head the whole way. Perhaps, I got a bit too sentimental about returning.

This city has a way of welcoming people back. It's an icy bear hug that's both friendly and menacing at the same time. Moscow's pretty sure that you can't live without her - and she treats you accordingly.

At the Kursk station, the main hall was closed - forcing hordes of people to clamber over tracks and weave through a drug store to exit the station complex.

After I secured my hotel, I thought I might go for a restorative stroll in the park across the street. The leafy green trees and grass (the first I've seen in Russia since last fall!) enticed such notions.

There's no such thing as a simple stroll in the park in a country like this. Alas, another document check by the police.

"What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing in Russia?"
"What's in your pockets?"
"How much money do you make in New York?"

A string of questions, some of official nature and some just plain curiosity. The conversation veered back and forth from interrogation to chat. But conversations like this always have the potential to end in statements, not questions. And they usually aren't too good.

"You are in the country illegally."

I pleaded my case and pointed out my very fresh Moscow registration from the hotel across the street. The policemen were suitably confused by all the stamps on my visa - and its official 'social-political' status - and decided to let me go.

"All the best," the militia men said as they handed back my passport and papers - and pointed me on my way back to the hotel. Thanks for the concern for my safety at 3pm.

All the best. Indeed.