Small Town To A Big City: No Friends, No Mounts Anymore

I know that most of those who moved to a big city from a small town at a conscious age, unanimously defined this choice as the solution. But deep down, in the silence of our rented apartments, each of us is still nostalgic about something that was familiar in our home town, and will never be so here… Aren’t you?

I’ve heard different things. Someone is missing the usual good-neighborliness, another one – sunny days and comfort, which small towns are normally full of. A friend, who moved to Moscow about one and half years ago, said, “Here is definitely better. Apart from the fact that there are no mountains, no friends, and no distinctness here.”

– What is distinctness then? Employment, housing?

– Distinctness is when you want tasty Chinese food, and you know exactly where to get it. Moreover, the chef or the owner (in the worst case, the administrator) of that restaurant would know you personally. And such…

With a light nostalgia, he remembered a small smoky bar on the outskirts of his native city, where all the guests were acquainted with each other, and where they met with friends regularly for warm circle drinking, philosophizing and singing blues with a guitar…

I myself sometimes miss such orderliness, when you almost certainly know where and how you will spend your Friday evening, because in a small town you have one favorite bar, where the unchangeable bartender from year to year meets you at the counter with the question: “…the usual?“.


In Moscow, before returning to the preferred restaurant later – even just after a month – firstly you’d better make sure it isn’t closed. And hoping to meet there the same people – is simply naive.  What do you expect? – Welcome to the city of great opportunities. The life of any bartender can abruptly change in a month. As well as can your own life…


I remember once, in a small basement restaurant “Kvartira 44” stylized as a real Moscow apartment of the 20’s, I witnessed someone else’s wonderful evening… It was a company of a kind of modern Moscow beatniks, obviously frequenters of that place.


The hostess greeted them warmly and seated them at the biggest table, located on a hill, as though apart from the rest of the hall. Young people drank considerably, discussed something, obsessing for several hours, and further into the night one of them uncovered a saxophone and began softly playing Pink Floyd tunes.

The grass was greener
The light was brighter
When friends surrounded
The nights of wonder…

About Yana141 Articles
Journalist by education, barstool philosopher by heart. Moskvaer. Rebel. Frustrated hedonist.

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