A 9.288 kilometers from Moscow, a teenage couple kissing in front of a frozen beach where the Pacific breaks its last waves. Russians drink vodka soldiers in the trendy, women walk with the same grace that Red Square and the children play on the boardwalk without understanding that Vladivostok is beyond what we can assimilate in the territory of a country.
But inevitably, this place is still Russia. The Siberian transports broken hearts from one place to another world, because almost 10.000 kilometers are, even for Russians, just a world-embracing. The city faces its winters, its History, his forgetfulness. When I arrived in Vladivostok discovered a city that defies all with an admirable naturalness. The cafes are full of youth and music playing in the streets. It's a way to reinvent, to survive beyond, at the end of map, of any map.
In the eyes of the people there are still a glow of pumps, as if they would not admit that while the Cold War ended.
On the other hand, armed ships are moored in the harbor and in the eyes of the people there are still a glow of pumps, as if unwilling to admit that while the Cold War ended. Vladivostok is a city of two speeds. One takes refuge in the shelter designer boutiques or a computer with Internet. The other is anchored to its museums with a submarine and rejoices in solitude, pride in their military. Some come to dance, other fanning the flames lighted remember the dead of wars. Some want to forget, others and can not but remember. Yesterday and tomorrow, military boots and stilettos, Stone statues and crystal nights. Vladivostok fights his own battle to be decided, indifferent to the indifference of the rest of the world, feeling to Russia while Russia feel almost forget, away from any, lejísimos, as on another planet, Those like the teenagers who besaban without knowing they were 9.288 kilometers from Moscow. "And to them that they care?”, thought.
