“Ladies and gentlemen, Uzbekistan Airways welcomes you to Saint Petersburg. The local time is 15:45. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisle clear until we are parked at the gate. The Captain will then turn off the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign, indicating it is safe to stand. Please use caution when opening the overhead compartments and removing items, since articles may have shifted during flight,” the air hostess announced. I looked out of the porthole, and there they were - crystal tears gently striking the ground. After long scorching days in my home town, the Russian afternoon shower was a welcome relief. The world puddled into blurred reflections. The air became sweet, and my soul somehow softened. My uncle was waiting for us with a radiant smile on his face and tiny raindrops on his shiny bald head at the entrance to the Pulkovo Airport. “Long time, no see,” he exclaimed in an exotic accent, greeting my mother. It was obvious he had been living there for ages. We all piled into his car, ready to set off for my grandparents' place. The car started, and we buckled our seat belts. About 5 minutes into the drive my brothers were getting seriously bored, so my uncle put on some sing- along music, and they started to sing really loudly. They wanted me to join in but I was resistant. Meanwhile, the short day was already burning out, clouds rose from the west, the sun has gone into them, and a quiet summer evening was coming. When my parents told me that we had relatives living in Petersburg, I used to imagine a metropolis with colorful architecture and futuristic skylines. Only later did I realize I had been greatly mistaken.. I was immensely surprised to find so comfortable a little dwelling in the Nevskaya Dubrovka wilderness. The air was so saturated with moisture that fish could enter the house through the open door, swim through the rooms and out of the windows. White nights, when the sky only reached twilight, not going any darker, was another unbelievable story. Rarely where can there be so many dark, harsh, and strange influences on the human soul as in Petersburg. As days went by, I was gradually getting used to moving away into the silent forest, facing bitter hours and breathing alone in the middle of the great stillness. An inexplicable chill always blew over me from this magnificent panorama. The spectacular picture was full of a mute and deaf spirit for me. One day, my aunt - an experienced English teacher - bestowed an unexpected gift into my hands: an English textbook by Valentina Skulte. This came as a great shock, since English and I did not get along at the time. I started taking classes from my aunt, not really of my own accord, three days a week. Initially, progress was rather tough, and I struggled a lot. I thought I would be able to learn it when pigs fly, and I did make them fly with the help of my aunt. At some point, she just stopped speaking Russian to me all of a sudden. She would not answer my questions in any language but English. The English lessons at school had not helped much. In fact, they were probably the sole origin of my vexation. However, my aunt's classes were not an incessant series of tedious texts to peruse and futile grammar patterns to drill. She made English an integral part of my life; she made me live the language. The indolent lounger, who went to Russia just for fun, experienced a lifetransforming change. He returned home as an inquisitive language aficionado striving to make a difference.