From Within Clouds and Kohvi.

The sun climbs higher over the horizon than I have seen it in a great amount of time. It is really startling, already close to a week into such a life, though still holding light disbelief every time I contemplate its position. Climbing over the clouds of Riga on the BA flight to Gatwick held the same sort of feeling when the sun shot through the windows, the only partner for the plane in the barren clouded landscape. That is always one of my favorite moments when flying, when a dark day is suddenly dispersed, crazy.
The two days of traveling were really monotone, holding a strange melancholy from the movement of temporarily parting with Europe. After not sleeping on New Years to ensure making it to the station for the ridiculously early bus to Riga, dragging suitcases over cobblestones the entire way, I took a few hours for sleep on the smooth ride under intrinsic Baltic skies. New Years consisted of a few Saku Tume with a Polski couple staying in the apartment wing of the hostel, champagne and dodging fireworks in the centre square of Old Town, another drink following at Levis Väljas, and listening to that crazy translated conversation. Forward again to the bus ride, after arriving and making the mystery pull of currency from an ATM with unclear perception of what the exchange rate was or what that meant for the amount that I withdrew, I took a later-realized incredibly overpriced taxi to the aeroport and then spending almost an entire Lat, fucking L, of the 50 that I withdrew on a few items to counter the mixed state of underslept and overdrank waiting for registration to open for the flight. Enjoyed one of the best samples of coffee that I had consumed in four months, and then set off for the island. At Gatwick under the shouting of warnings detailing the acquisition and ultimately, 'maybe', destruction of unattended luggage, I took a breath of UK air outside the door and settled into two constantly drifting chairs for the night. I was stopped at one point by a, constable?, sporting one of those incredibly visible and at-the-ready automatics and went through a random security check. The check was great, actually, probably a hassle for rushing passengers, though as I was forty minutes into the 18 something hours which I would spend in the time zone, I was completely cooperative with such. The guy was great to talk to for a while, better than any conversation I had in Russia with actual citizens there, and I came out of it with a UK police report copy detailing how I was checked under the 2000 Terrorism and something Act. That is getting fucking framed.
The return stateside was really, well, anticlimactic and sort of lonely. After Tori picked me up at MSP slightly late, which in turn actually worked as I was delayed some 40 minutes, we talked about random back at the flat for an hour before she left for some friend's birthday and then off to live in Orno for the rest of break. Sam is still in Wisconsin, so the entire 3-bedroom is left to myself and the cascading rhythms of Miwon and Pastacas, staring at the emptiness of the horizon. Readjusting to Western civilization and the time zone and such has mostly taken place through an overload of cleaning the apartment, which, in most part of it, is the first time in four and a half months. No worries though.
I realized another element that felt dragging down of spirits in Russia, as everything in that region it is two sided, though ultimately slowly degrading. Immersion into that culture raises a lack of suprise for most occurences. As things descend into increasingly shocking circumstances, shock and suprise at such fades and forwards that lack. It is slow to notice, as the enacting of such takes place slowly through multiple, constant, parts of society and lfie. Even the response of a shaking of the head, rerealization and trailing off statement 'Fucking Russia,', with the reoccuring exposure to such, other emotions dwindle within the borders of such culture. Crossing into the Baltics felt as a reawakening every time I crossed the border. Not only a reawakening into more Western civilization, the architecture and institutions and people and interactions, it was also a sort of reawakening of expression. It is a reopening, a sudden break into the unobscured sunlight and shattering of surrounding tethers.
Even as I have a mobile for contact now, most are absent of the city for break, takes in a strange and staggered reentrance into this culture. Realization of such has come in bursts, a blank second and a stare at the start of my first shift back at the 'Buck, which transitioned into flawless reimmersion into 15 second shots and drink calls. Things are either strikingly different or strikingly unchanged.
Snow is falling in scarcity. Thoughts swell and drift to urges for a Saku and a walk to the end of the world with some half French, followed by the swan along the shore. Terviseks!