While the impressions are still fresh, I'll tell you about my arrival in the US.
This country is understandable and in a sense simple, but nonetheless quite curious for the broad masses of people, for whom getting here is both far and expensive. Since I was here last time , eight years have passed. Moreover, back then I was in North Carolina for work, and now — again in Wisconsin, which is much dearer to my heart, even though it's much colder here.
I went through the Chicago (O'Hare) airport control simply and smoothly, even though I stood in line for a long time. Nowadays, the upper strata of society, i.e., American citizens and holders of the US visa waiver pass called ESTA, are entitled to a separate corridor, but this didn't help me. There are even machines for taking fingerprints and face photos, but this didn't noticeably speed up the process either.
A tired officer (just like eight years ago, of a dark black color, but this time a man) asked where I was heading (to my sister's), why for so long (haven't seen her in many years), and whether I work at all (a logical question, considering my vagabond look).
I do work, I answered, and right at the end of my visit to the US I'll fly to New York to see a client.
Combining business and leisure, eh? the officer asked even more tiredly, added for the sake of appearances: "You're not planning to work here, right?", and slapped a stamp in my passport.
They didn't check my suitcase, and there wasn't much to check anyway — I flew only with carry-on luggage, which held exactly three things: a laptop, ten boxes of pills, and three massive bags of tea.
My bus wasn't anytime soon, in an hour, so I started slowly wandering around the airport, looking for an exchange office. I didn't apply my planning skills this time, so I had no dollars on me. The exchange office was closed, and the ATM demanded a buck and a half on top.
I cancelled the transaction three times, wondering if there was an alternative. I tried to buy a ticket online, but they strictly required an American phone number — typical tunnel vision for the US.
Not knowing how things stand with card acceptance on buses nowadays, I grudgingly forked over the demanded sum to the pathetic-looking machine, and withdrew just enough bucks for the ticket, around 30.
Where the bus arrives (Van Galder Coach USA, wasn't easy to guess, but the airport workers tipped me off. Fortunately, speaking English has been easy and pleasant for me for a long time, even though I don't always understand the answer on the first try.
I hobbled to the stop, checking things out along the way. As it turned out, airport workers aren't supposed to take tips, for which there's a corresponding sign (unlike in most eateries and hotels).
The design in America is still straightforward and boring, the signs are huge and in capital letters, and this immediately catches the eye, even in the airport. It was chilly outside, but not as much as I expected — around 8 degrees, even though it was night.
The bus pulled up way early, and I hobbled toward it as briskly as possible after such a long wait and flight (which you haven't read about yet, because the narrative isn't linear this time).
The driver came out for a smoke, confirmed he'd take me to Madison, started bantering, and we got to talking. First, he joked that I could do whatever I wanted, it's the States, the land of the free. I could get on the bus, or I could stand outside! Basically, this reflects that very freedom in the US pretty well — you can do anything, except what's forbidden and heavily regulated, but there are so many rules and laws that only lawyers can understand them.
The driver lamented that people in the US criticize the country and their lives way too often, and that living here is actually not bad at all. "God bless America" — I heard from him, and more than once at that, which, along with the joke about freedom, immediately put me in the right mood.
But what about poverty and the starving? — I asked, seeing that the man was positively minded and didn't intend to fight to the death.
There are foundations, and soup kitchens, and all that stuff — you won't die of hunger, — the driver summed up.