Hitch-hiking around the USA. Valery Shanin
another two Universities – the University of Georgia and the University n.a. Martin Luther King, — but nobody on the information desk offered a ride to Florida either.
I was going to warn Steve about my soon to come arrival that evening. He could have forgotten about having invited me, could not he?
I called to Florida from the phone booth reversing the charges: I had read in an advertising brochure I was handed in on the Aeroflot plane, that to do that I needed to dial the digit ‘O’ and tell the operator who was calling. She would report your name to the subscriber and if the latter agreed to pay for the conversation she would connect you.
I dialed the digit, told my name and heard:
— Mister Leah Carbon, would you like to talk to Valeriy? Valeriy who? From Georgia.
Steve couldn’t figure out who was calling. I couldn’t help breaking into the conversation in Russian.
– Valera, is that you? Why are you calling from Georgia?
— It’s not the Georgia you’re thinking of! I’m in Atlanta! In the neighbouring state! — I realised why Steve had been surprised at my call – also the country in the Caucasus is called Georgia in English.
Without providing much explanation (it was he who was paying for the call), I told him I would arrive soon.
MSU, KGB, the University of the State of Florida
In the morning, Geoff brought me to the southern border of Atlanta, on the 75th interstate highway stretching from the Canadian frontier to Miami.
I stood at the roadside with a banner: ‘FLORIDA’. Hardly a dozen cars passed by. A Japanese compact car stopped. That one was old too! A typical hippy at the steering wheel.
— Florida? What city?
— Gainesville. The University.
— It’s on my way. Get in… Are you a student? Me too. I’m Jim Harvey. I go to college. Tomorrow I’m sitting my exam in Psychology. See the textbook on the back seat. I’m studying at a Bachelor’s Degree course…
— In Psychology?
— No. I haven’t yet chosen what to major in. Psychology is just a compulsory subject.
Jim told me he lived in Saint–Petersburg. Not the one on the Neva, the one on the Mexican Gulf coast, in Florida. He and his brother occupied a room in a house, which they shared with other two friends. He paid only 25 dollars a month – it was cheap for the block was nearby the black ghetto…
Discussing the ‘benefits’ of such neighborhood we reached the turn to Gainesville.
There were three exits from the 75th interstate highway to Gainesville. I ventured the one in the middle: that way I was supposed to get as close to the center as possible and from there I would decide where to go.
It wasn’t far from the city. I had Steve’s address but I didn’t want to disturb him with a call again – I could make it by myself.
In Gainesville it was warm and sunny. Why not have a walk in such nice weather?
I asked for directions from the passers–by. I bumped into a retired couple – both in bright shorts and T–shirts. They started assuring me vividly that Steve’s district was far from there. Actually, Americans couldn’t imagine their life without a car that’s why walking for more than one kilometer is an undertaking for them. However, when it took me more than an hour to get to the city center, I understood why they had been warning me. Although Gainesville is rather small compared to other American cities, but many people there live in houses surrounded by vast forest areas.
In the heart of the city was the University of the State of Florida — one of the biggest in the country — with its own student campus. Within the campus people could only move on foot or by bicycle, it looked like China. Cars were forbidden, the students and the lecturers had to keep bicycles under the car hood.
Almost every student had the emblem of the University on their T–shirts. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a T–shirt with the writing in Russian ‘The Moscow University’. That was our guy, I thought. I spoke to him but he replied in English. It turned out he had been to Moscow on probation. Another guy had ‘KGB’ written on his T–shirt and he definitely wasn’t our agent. In general, I saw many T–shirts with Russian emblems but they happened to have been bought in the student’s store.
The University was full of policemen. They gathered a crowd around them and organized ‘The Police Day’ but in a purely American Way, like a party. It was a promotion show with contests, lotteries, prizes: police torches, penknives, flasks… I tried my luck in the lottery but lost.
In the other part of the campus, under a tree decorated with condoms like a Christmas tree, anti–AIDS propaganda was being carried out; nearby, gathering donations for the University sail regatta, students were selling T–shirts with its symbols; baptists were handing out their books… Yet most students were sunbathing lying on the grass and browsing lazily through the textbooks.
The apartment Steve and his wife Rita rented was but a step to the University (still, Steve went to study by car). After my call from Atlanta they had been already awaiting me.
I spent a week at their place. Steve proceeded with his studies, Rita (since she hadn’t found a job – there were too many people possessing University degrees in the campus) worked as a sales assistant at a jewellery shop. I started thinking about what to do next. Should I go back to New York? Should I hitchhike somewhere else? I had seen for myself that one could hitchhike on the American roads. I made up my mind: since I was in Florida, I would go to the sea, to Miami beach.
One can get to Miami from Gainesville taking one of two routs: through Orlando or through Saint–Petersburg and Naples. Anyways, you needed to start from the 75th Interstate highway which I took from Atlanta.
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