St. Petersburg, a beautiful city rich in culture and history. The city held great meaning for Vasily, it was home, he had deep seeded roots in the city and the country. His mother and father grew up in the city of Leningrad, his two older brothers were born there as well. Vasily would the first American born Maslov. If only his parents waited a couple of years before moving to Boston, it was a long running joke of his whenever he was singled out by anyone. The American. He was proud of it, proud of what his parents went through and all they did for Vasily and his brothers. Life wasn’t easy, nothing came easy for them but they were grateful and appreciated everything they had. The United States truly was the land of dreams.

He would spend over three weeks in Russia, most of that time spent in St. Petersburg getting to know family and relatives and familiarizing himself with his surroundings and all the historical sites. His favorite places were the wide open spaces filled with different people, different cultures, and a mixture of voices and dialects that formed a beautifully sung melody. Music to his ears. The food, the characters, the trinkets, he couldn’t pick a favorite aspect of his trip, it was impossible. He couldn’t get enough of it all. Vas had his trusty camera in hand, an early birthday bought for himself in preparation for his summer vacation. He would be off to college soon but the long awaited trip was far more exciting to him. Months away from home and a camera to capture it all. An elegant woman sitting on a filthy floor at a market, trying to sell a puppy. Hard to resist. A funny character walking around with a bear on a leash. After striking up a conversation Vas learned that his new friend would go about charging tourists 30 rubles to take pictures with the animal. And he made a killing by doing so. Who wouldn’t be in awe and amazed at seeing a real bear. Who would resist the urge to take pictures?

The streets were wide, bustling with life. Street side vendors selling everything and anything you could possibly imagine. Street food, pirozhki, cinnamon covered almonds, water, beer … oh the alcohol he encountered during his travels. Smooth gorgeous Russian vodka that just slipped eagerly down your throat, nothing like he’s ever had before. Two bucks a shot, beer for less than a dollar; he was living the life and enjoying every second of it. Getting around the city was easy enough; his Russian flowed naturally and despite a little teasing here and there over the pronunciation of certain words he could have easily been mistaken as a local. A local with wide eyes and a huge grin as he took in all the sights and sounds, that is. The subway was magnificent, with chandeliers in the stations, and surprisingly easy to get around in. The trains were old, loud, rattling as they sped by. Everything about the city enticed him, made him want more. His time was well spent, one he would remember always.