I have an awful memory, I have to write down almost every important thing I have to do. However, I will never forget the first days in each new city I've lived.
Tucson wasn't an exception - I remember every minute.
The moment I got on the plane to Tucson, I realized that for the first time in my life I was tete-a-tete with myself. Grown up in Baku, where everyone I knew were a phone call away, I was now on my way to a place where I didn't know anyone and was supposed to figure everything out on my own.
I thought I should begin connecting with locals and looked around for a potential conversation object. However, my attempts to chat with passengers next to me were not successful at all. A hip guy on my left lazily replied to a couple of my questions about Tucson and buried his face in a book. The man on my right fell asleep before I even had a chance to start a conversation. For the rest of my flight I stared in the window, waiting to see my new home from a bird's eye view. Finally, the desert ended and there, behind mountains, lay Tucson - spread, sunny and strange.
My graduate adviser Paul Johnson was supposed to meet me at Tucson International Airport, which was unbelievably small, even for the post-Soviet standards. Several months later, when my roommate Kelly was taking me to the airport for my flight to Chicago, she made a joke, that the airport got its "international" name only for occasional flights to Mexico it offers.
My adviser was being late, and I went outside to breathe Tucson air for the first time. One things was a relief - the weather was amazing. It was sunny, hot and dry - the perfect combination for the sun-loving, humidity-loathing me. I sat in the shade and watched people pass by. Most of them were white and elderly.
Mr. Johnson turned out to be a nice man with old-school manners. He dragged my luggage to the car apologizing for being late - he was babysitting his granddaughter. He reminded me of my grandfather, the one who passed away when I was six, and, feeling six again, I started asking questions.
While we were passing by Tucson's run down neighborhoods, Mr. Johnson was telling me all about the city. He told me that its population was a little over 500,000; that Arizona used to be a part of Mexico and joined the United States 100 years ago; that the weather is really THAT good throughout the year, except for a short very mild winter and monsoon in the end of summer and early fall. "You'll see it for yourself today," he added.
As we drove I my first glimpses of Tucson - they weren't particularly impressive. Although I kept reminding myself that I was happy for my dream to study abroad to come true, it wasn't going exactly how I imagined it. I admitted to myself that I did expect a bigger city, maybe in a different state, with a bigger school. I was still a little bit in love with Washington, D.C. and the image of me studying and living in New York was too dear to let go. Above all was the feeling of having to be alone in this exotic new place. Probably feeling my mood, Mr. Johnson asked if I wanted to see the campus: "I can drive around it and show you our building." I nodded, appreciating his offer.
Slowly, the road changed into a city view - small colorful houses and wide roads. When we drove into the campus my jaw dropped. Beautiful buildings, all in similar styles and made of red bricks, with fountains, big lawns and bike racks in front of them, were exactly the way I imagined American universities (like the ones in movies) and even better. We drove further to the University boulevard, where, as Mr. Johnson said, young people would go out on weekends. The street, which was right next to our building, consisted of brand clothing stores, cafes, bakeries and bars, and was filled with people. Right in the middle of it laid a tram road - the street apparently had a tram, which picked up people from the corner of University boulevard and Park avenue to take them all the way to the 4th Avenue, a central street with all the fun, Mr. Johnson explained.
I was happy. I fell in love with the laid back and diverse environment of my university from the first sight.
We drove along the boulevard and towards my hotel. Five minutes later we were driving in the parking lot of a motel-style Best Western hotel on North Stone street. In the park in front of it, De Anza Park, as I learned later, I saw a small crowd of homeless people. The person, who later told me the name of the park, also told me that, apparently, the park was one of the points where "they fed the homeless."
Mr. Johnson dragged my luggage to my room, told me he will pick me up the next day to take to the Marshall building (where the journalism school was) and explained me where the hotel's cafe was. He left and I fought the urge to go to the pool and fall asleep in the heat. Instead, I opened up my laptop and told the world, and my parents, that I arrived to Tucson safe and sound. Then I ordered some food, watched my first 10-minute monsoon rain and fell on the bed unable to move.
I thought about my week reliving every day, moment by moment: I was in Baku, enjoying my favorite beach, having several farewell parties (most of them at Emin's house) and last-at-least-for-two-years conversations with my dear friends. I was going to the airport, surrounded by close friends and my mom. I met other Muskie fellows and watched the video my friends made about me on the plane to Washington. Here I saw Pentagon's wing on the way to our hotel, then I met my roommate for the three-day stay in the capital city - Aytaj, who later became my derdleshme (Azeri for sharing each other's sorrows) buddy and a dear friend. Here I met Muskies from other post-Soviet countries, made new friends and went out for the first time in my American student life for shots of tequila and some dancing with Aytaj and other guys from the group. Here we toasted for America.
I thought about the people I will most probably not see for two years, about my parents and my first impression of Tucson. I reminded myself that it's not about where you live, but about how. I knew then that I was going to live these two years to the fullest. This city was supposed to change my life in ways I never imagined.
I fell asleep and woke up 14 hours later at 6a.m..
Exploring, Dreaming and Discovering America. Part I. Washington, DC