This blog can be read by my friends in different countries. And in those countries, major state affairs may have occurred, and some are happening right now. This story is about how I ended up in Samara. Yesterday, pastries with cream were put out on the office kitchen counter, and this memory came to me.
In 1992, my family was traveling to a new place of service. We were moving from Smolensk to the Far East. We arrived at Belorussky Station in Moscow. Passing by the cafeteria, I saw the last pastry tube cake in the window. I didn’t ask for much as a child, but here I really wanted it, and since there was only one left, I offered to share it with everyone, one bite each. And it cost an unbelievable amount of money, something like 48 kopecks, twice the price of ice cream.
A tall, chubby salesman in a white cap and robe peered out from behind the juice counter and gave a rather unpleasant smile.
Mom, of course, refused. And I immediately didn’t like this salesman and his entire counter.
On the third floor of the station was a guardhouse, and Dad went there to get tickets to our destination. Instead, he received an order.
Due to the recently dissolved USSR, changes were occurring within the countries affected by its collapse. By September 1992, troop rotations ceased, our apartment in the new location wasn’t vacated, Dad’s position was still occupied, and there was nowhere for us to go. We decided to travel without warning to my mother’s parents in Samara.
There was plenty of time before the train arrived, and Mom, having experienced a sudden stress from this unexpected turn of events, led me after that pastry. It was still there! We shared it with my brother because the parents weren’t up for sweets.
After a few days, I went to a new school and city life began.
