How To Get Homesick

The Life Binge

I worry that our pictures make us look like alcoholics. I assure you that while we might have been binge drinking, I think it’s more accurate to say we were binge living. The only thing we did in moderation was sleep. The 5 of us (Peter, Sara, Stephen, Steven, and I) who stayed in the Green Room at the Cuba Hostel never slept for more than a handful of hours before waking up to go to a museum, church, or just on a long walking tour of the city. We entertained the idea of napping every night but rarely did so before buying a bottle of vodka, turning the hostel lobby in to the place to be before, and then hitting the unparalleled bar scene of St. Petersburg full speed.

The result of our life binging was a whirlwind week that slowly slipped into an alternate collective consciousness. We wandered around St. Petersburg having holy moments on bouncing bridges and outside gumball churches, where we offered up ludicrous ideas and abstract observations in our irreversibly changed vocab of broken English and simple Russian. One result was a litany of inside jokes (or inside shoot-kas, if you know what I mean) that Americans wouldn’t get but our Russian friends embraced.

The end came all too soon. My final hours were spent in a sandy beach-like bar in the middle of a huge courtyard of deteriorating yet beautiful buildings. The entire outdoor area surrounding the bar was sand and from one end the Church of Spilled Blood’s gumballs rose above the courtyard. When night turned into morning we worried the party was beginning to die down but more Russians showed up, most carrying strips of cardboard. The cardboard stacked up into a large pile and then a small fire was built in the sand. It was great to help us keep warm during the wee hours of the morning but even better, some hippies came with drums and the next partied started. In this sandy bar called Dune, people were dancing around the fire and jumping over it (supposedly to kill some spirits), all right in the middle of St. Petersburg.

5:00 am came too soon and we had to leave the bar while the party was still on full tilt. I hated to go but it’s always good to go out while on top. Back at the hostel I only had 10 minutes to finish packing before the taxi arrived. Stephen and Steven weren’t home but by the time I was walking down the stairs we heard their triumphant return from an equally entertaining night. I didn’t have time to hear the story, only time to say quick goodbyes, hop in the cab and drive away.

The Waiting Reflection

As the sun came up over St. Petersburg, my cab sped to the airport giving me a brief but impressive tour through parts of the city I had never seen. I suddenly realized how little of the city I had discovered and again wished I was staying. The cabbie took pride in his fast driving and flew down the empty streets blowing through intersections split seconds after lights turned from red to green. He looked over to me pumping his eyebrows looking for compliments but his fun was soon ruined when he was pulled over by the cops. It was only a pit stop though, he bribed them with 100 rubles and was back on the gas pedal like it had never happened.

The St. Petersburg airport smelled like horse manure. Had I been blindfolded, I would have guessed I was at the farm. Inside the airport there were very few people and the strange smell persisted. The place was quiet and empty. Suddenly, for the first time in all of my travels, I felt lonely. For the past month I been traveling with Peter and Sara but was again traveling solo. It never bothered me before but having gotten used to talking all the time and with only the wall to stare at, I just at there and thought about the past insane week I had just lived through.

The Dark Side of Travel

Homesickness is often spurred on by an illness, or in the least, something that makes me miss the modern comforts at home. I’ve been lucky enough avoid being too ill and, for the most part, most of my travels have been above my comfort threshold. Then I got onto a Russian airlines flight having partied for the last 10 hours. I thought that sleep deprivation would be a good thing but the plane I boarded was the oldest passenger plane I’ve ever been on. The seats offered as much less leg a high chair and the seats were plaid and itchy. I didn’t have anyone next to me, but that only made it worse since the man behind the seat pushed it entirely forward to give himself more legroom. This pinned me in but I just tried to sleep and forget everything.

I was relieved to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position against my window but I awoke in a panic. The temperature inside the plane had risen violently and looking out the window I realized we were still on the runway. Then I saw a dog run across the runway and I felt even more confused than before. I realized the plane wasn’t even on. No air came out of the vents. Waves of heat rolled over my head and I started to feel my skin turn blotchy. I reached for water but my bottle was empty. I tried to relax but I claustrophobia set in and the heavy air began to suffocate me.

Just when I thought I’d vomit or pass out or vomit and then pass out and maybe soil myself, the plane turned on. Just hearing that made me feel better. Seeing the runway move helped even more. When we finally lifted off, air began to circulate through the cabin and my exhaustion overcame my sickness and I finally fell asleep in my uncomfortable, itchy seat. After only a half an hour nap, we arrived in Moscow and stepping off the plane I felt pure relief, gulping in the relatively fresh air.

Bad News and No Choice

The relief of having arrived in Moscow was short lived. Just when I thought I could finally sleep for an hour or too, I realized that my flight to Cairo was not on the departure board. I went to the information booth for help. A girl took her headphones out and read over my ticket several times with a confused look on her face. Then she told me the bad news: I was flying out of the OTHER International airport in Moscow. It was very far away and there was no easy way to get there. I entertained the idea of getting a cab but the first price quoted to me was 4,500 rubles, or $180.

And so, with only a half an hour of sweaty, uncomfortable sleep, I was off on a transportation adventure through Moscow. It took me a while but I found the correct, packed shuttle bus to the nearest Metro stop. The Moscow Metro has more track by distance than any other in the world and I think I saw a majority of it. I took the red, brown, and green lines through 16 stops before arriving back to the surface of the Moscow streets and starting to feel panic about being in the wrong place. I saw nothing even remotely looking like an airport in sight.

In these, my final hours in Russia, the little language I had learned was essential to my exit. “Prastite… Mnye nushnya pomish puzhalsta. Gdye Aeroporto Domodedovo?” Admittedly, I usually used that as a pick up line. “Excuse me… I need some help.” But good thing I had because my pronunciation was perfect. It worked and soon I was on yet another uncomfortable shuttle bus headed to the other airport.

This was the first ride since my sauna flight in which I had been able to let myself fall asleep. On the other shuttle and the entire Metro, my eyelids heavy and my head bobbing in and out of sleep, but I had to stay awake so as to not miss my stop. Here on the shuttle bus with a final destination of the correct airport, I allowed my eyelids to fall shut and my head bobbled around on my neck while I enjoyed something vaguely similar to sleep.

Icing On the Cake

Compared to the rest of the day, my time spent in the new airport and on my flight across to Cairo was heavenly. I finally caught some decent sleep and didn’t have to worry about any other transfers. Then I arrived in Cairo. This, like my airport mess up, was bad news I could only blame myself for. I had arrived in Cairo without a plan and without knowledge of public transportation.

Obtaining a visa and getting through customs ended up being far easier than I had imagined. My bag showed up within seconds of my arrival at baggage claim. But then I walked outside the airport and was at a loss for where to find a cab or how much to pay for it. Conceding to a tourists’ rip off price, I finally found a cab and got out of the airport. All I wanted was to get to a shower and a bed as soon as possible.

At the airport in Moscow I had done a minute of research on hostels and wrote down a couple addresses. The cabbie drove me over to the street but couldn’t find the place. Somehow I decided it was best to ditch the cabbie and continue my search on foot. Walking up and down the unmarked Adly Street looking for a specific address was not easy. I made the walk up and down the street at least three times before finally I caught a glimpse of the sign of the place I was looking for.

This was where I imagined they were going to say: sorry, no vacancies. But to my surprise not only were there rooms but also everyone at the hostel was extremely friendly. I should have been excited to be in Cairo. Still, despite any hospitality I was a different person. I had such little sleep, compounding a monumental hangover, and thus had endured one of the worst days I’ve had in the past year. Comparing the bliss of my last night in St. Petersburg, these 24 hours of travel was like comparing heaven and hell. Such times try my patience of world traveling.

Homesickness is just that though, a sickness and it fades quickly. After 12 straight hours of sleep (albeit them being in the humid heat of North Africa) I feel infinitely better and have started to feel excited about being in Cairo. I’ve only spent a couple hours here but I’m already more worried about overcoming the initial days of culture shock than anything else. The adventure continues…