Moving

Boris Solovyev had always hated moving. From the times of the German invasion and having to flee the family home, to the forced deportations by the labor camps, he hated moving. To him before, moving had always brought anguish, uncertainty, and sadness for the future. But now that was changing, just like everything else in Russia.

As he tugged his suitcase along the pavement of Rostov, a backpack on his shoulders, he felt as if a long night had passed and morning was coming. Oh, Rostov's redevelopment was progressing nicely - the new commercial developments, new and modern residential areas, and all sorts of new leisure activities were certainly nothing to scoff at. But he was headed somewhere else - to Volgograd, the southern gem of Russia's new crown. He could almost see the high-tech offices, and Alexander Nevsky's bronze frame (at last, the city was restored to its former glory!) as he entered the Rostov Central Rail Station.

He made it through security without a hitch, and was soon at the main hall of the station. He swiped his card on the automated kiosk, and 20 rubles and about 30 seconds later he found himself with one ticket to Volgograd aboard Russia's newest spectacle, the Skorostnoypoyezd, their new high speed rail network. Already thousands of kilometers of new tracks were being laid, and Russia's recovering cities seemed to be brought closer together. Seeing as he'd arrived early, he thought he'd go and grab something to eat while he waited the roughly 30 minutes for the train to arrive at the station.

Soon he found himself at the station's Teremok, which was packed with commuters, movers, and vacationers alike, all waiting on the same quick bite. Teremok was a rising name in Russia's restaurant scene, combining Western conveniences such as fast service and low prices with a traditional Russian palette. He stood in line for a minute or two before it was time for him to order. He decided to get a plate of blini with some mors, and before long he was sitting down to eat his food.

While he chowed down and watched the clock, he began to swipe through the newest issue of the Novaya Gazeta. Apparently, the first general elections had been held in the recently freed Ukraine, and the results were overwhelmingly in favor of the liberal Civic Position party, with a dominating 185 of the 320 seats of the Verkhovna Rada and the presidency, with the newly elected Petro Tymoshenko to be inaugurated within about 4 months. He was delighted; he thought it great that the other oppressed peoples of Eastern Europe could share in their newfound freedom.

Putting away his plate and once again lugging his suitcase, he went back to the terminal just in time to nab a decent seat with a good view. He pushed his suitcase into the overhead shelf and his backpack under the seat in front. Upon sitting down, he noticed that the seats were not only quite comfortable but also could recline a bit - he wasted no time in making use of it. As he settled in for the roughly 2 hour journey, he had but one thought on his mind.

What a great time it is to be a Russian.

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