On Friday I left for Владимир (Vladimir), a smallish city about 3 hours outside Moscow where one of my college friends is teaching. I bought my train ticket at half past noon, but the train didn't leave until two, so I thought great I can have a leisurely lunch somewhere. Bad move. I got back to the station at quarter til, and the train was completely full. I walked the length of a couple cars, asking people next to empty seats, "можно?," and invariably got in response something whose letters sounded like "закрыто" and whose tone was unmistakably "fuck off." Soon I gave up and stood with my back against the window and my backpack balanced on my boots, off the muddy floor.

The heating in Russian trains (binary I bet), isn't made for the recent mild winters. Half an hour after we left, I was roasting. I didn't open the window for fear of the wrath of the babushki (cold air makes you sick, no matter how hot you are), so had to content myself with trying to absorb the coolness of the glass through my back. An hour and a half in, I finally got a seat.

Vladimir bears little resemblance to Moscow. The entire main street is walkable in 15 minutes. People are out strolling on the streets enjoying each other's company, not running to get somewhere or boozing by the kiosk. The restaurants are smaller, have more character, and are about half the price. Onion-domed churches (with snow sculptures out front...my favorite was a maze, which would be especially cool if you were 3 feet tall and couldn't see over the walls) look down on the frozen river.

The foreigner-celebrity effect, diluted by Moscow's growing worldliness and cosmopolitan(aity?), is full-on in Vladimir. My friend's enjoying it, and is frank about the draw of general ego-flattery. (I can't feel flattered when I see my reflection in people's eyes and it looks like Clinton or Hollywood or Mickey D's and not like me, but power to her if she's not that cynical). She's been there for a year and a half, and is thinking of staying for another academic year, but like a lot of twentysomething Americans here is being pressured by her parents to come home and get serious.

She's fairly integrated into life there. She speaks good Russian, plus she's helped build her small language school into somewhat of a community fixture. Part of me wonders if I should have chosen somewhere smaller and more personable, but while I was making the choice the megalopolis seemed the only way to go. There's safety in the variety of a city when you don't know what you're getting into.