New York, New York.

The most democratic of cities, the Big Apple provokes love or hatred—but never apathy. Its vibe, its rhythms, its staggering diversity will never be forgotten. New York—Love at first sight, for me.

And I was doing it! At that very moment, in that very same garage, when those, ground-breaking tips were thrust in my undeniably Slavic face, I was in the process of washing a car—a Jaguar, probably ‘78—for which I received $15. But only later; in fact several hours later, so my plans had been thwarted.

This was the first episode when events developed in America not according to my desired script. But definitely not the last: I won’t beat around the bush, for everything I had planned to do here while still on the other side of the Atlantic turned out to be unreal. So, back to the starting line: Whadayagonna do?—as the Brooklyn guys say. In general, I earned $102 that day–$29 from tips (minus $2 a client cheated me out of) and $75 as a salary for 12 hours of work.  Of course this was also a scam, since 12 hours at $6.50 per hour = $78. But this is America, baby! No cheating, no surviving! This is the way it is here. Fine, I like it here!

Santa Monica, California.

I have no illusions about writing something fresh about L.A. Apparently this is a fine place if you like Hollywood and everything “Hollywoodish”. My sister, for example said “…look, there’s a car with a star of a popular soap opera”. I heard that some in L.A. spend all their money on appearances: clothes, cars, life-style—in order to be like their idols. In general, in L.A. you’re judged by your life style, but in N.Y.C. it’s how you grow and whether you know how to achieve your goals. In L.A. you’re nothing without a Mercedes; in N.Y.C. millionaires do not even have cars, preferring public transportation. L.A.’s natural environment is lovely although I never actually saw it—I was there in the winter.

Las Vegas, Nevada.

“Vegas” (as the Americans say) is uniquely situated. From the air—desert. One hour left. More desert. 30 minutes as preparation for landing is announced. But where? Everywhere, desert. And great turbulence to boot!  The plane screeches, shakes – how it didn’t come apart already I’ll never understand. Alas, heading toward landing and I’m freaking out with the thought of setting down in dunes! Is that Sudan?

Suddenly, the city appears. At first—and typical for American cities—garbage dumps and warehouses. Then, awesome beauty. Vegas, where people come to from everywhere in America and the world to blow a few million bucks in an evening.

But Vegas in not N.Y. That’s for sure. The atmosphere is mellow, child-like in its devil-may-care attitude. No hurrying here (and why? You lost a ton, so relax!), with everyone almost suspiciously polite. Bus drivers can’t stop babbling with their passengers. Love to joke. And it’s perfectly normal for them to stop in the middle of the road and speak with a passer-by. Give him directions. Why not? Passengers are good with this. On my very first day, for example, I was accompanied out of the bus by the driver who wanted to give me directions, while the passengers waited and smiled. Many drivers are females.

In general, Vegas is one big street (narrow side streets run off of it), with enormous hotels hunched over on both sides. Traffic into it gets bottled-up. What more is there to say? That’s it. On the evening of my second day in Vegas I left for L.A. While it’s beautiful, Vegas isn’t for me: To laid-back and boring.