<div class="bbm_float fright" style="float:right;margin:0 0 5px 10px">
<div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=http%3A%2F%2F666kb.com%2Fi%2Fdwjfhxutnsmilavax.jpg&amp;hash=dc09a1eb265480585e91c8a480c1bb1b" title="dwjfhxutnsmilavax.jpg">
<img alt="dwjfhxutnsmilavax.jpg" class="bbImage lazyload" data-src="/proxy.php?image=http%3A%2F%2F666kb.com%2Fi%2Fdwjfhxutnsmilavax.jpg&amp;hash=dc09a1eb265480585e91c8a480c1bb1b" data-url="http://666kb.com/i/dwjfhxutnsmilavax.jpg" data-zoom-target="1" height="" src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" style="" title="" width=""/>
<noscript><img alt="dwjfhxutnsmilavax.jpg" class="bbImage" data-url="http://666kb.com/i/dwjfhxutnsmilavax.jpg" data-zoom-target="1" height="" src="/proxy.php?image=http%3A%2F%2F666kb.com%2Fi%2Fdwjfhxutnsmilavax.jpg&amp;hash=dc09a1eb265480585e91c8a480c1bb1b" style="" title="" width=""/></noscript>
</div>
</div>Some things are so typically American that one could forget there might be other cultures and countries where the people do just the same nice or strange things. One of those things is backpacking through western Europe. If you ask young people from Seattle to Miami what they want to do after finishing High School, the mentioned activity might come up at least in the Top 5 of each of them. The cold war had taught us that all Russians are strange and communists and love Mother Russia so deeply that they never would dream of visiting the "more civilized" countries of the West. God almighty, how Anastasija hated those biases and stereotypes. Ever since she had finished High School she wanted so badly to travel and visit the world, she could not be persuaded in studying right away - not by her caring parents, not by her severe grandfather and not by her cool and understanding but concerned and worried granny.<br/><br/>She had worked her ass off in the local library practically since she was old enough to earn a few Rubles, and when she hit 18 and had her diploma, she literally packed her backpack and off she flew from Moscow to Rome, where her journey across Europe had started. Rome was a natural destination for her, since she wanted to study the history of art and make her master in the field - so where better to start in Italy, right? Right. As the last stop she had decided on Athens, but it would take her months until she would finally reach Athens, maybe a whole year. From Italy, where she had visited Naples after Rome, Milan and Turin she had taken a ferry to southern France, continued the journey by train from Nice to Marseilles, then south again to Barcelona and Madrid. After Spain another trip to France was on the program and she drank nice wine in Bordeaux after she had crossed the Pyrenees and from there she had been hiking across France to Paris.<br/><br/>She had lost her heart to a young French lady there with which she had spent almost a month until her wanderlust had kicked in again. Bitter tears had been rolling down her eyes when they kissed good-bye under the Eiffel Tower and she was a little lost after that, wanting only to get away from France and her lost young puppy love. Which brought her more or less directly to Germany. On her way north she had originally planned to visit the Netherlands, enjoy some grass and the relaxed dutch lifestyle, but she craved new adventures and her craving had changed to Berlin. Everyone in her circle of friends had talked about Berlin - the clubs there, the strange melting pot of cultures and the historical relevance as the literal borderline where East and West had collided for nearly 50 years in bitter hatred for each other. But Berlin was a long journey yet, right now the sun burned down on her raven hair and the only shadow she could hide under came from the cardboard sign saying "Anywhere but home".<br/><br/>When the Truck that just had ran past her came to a squealing halt, she ran up to the passenger's door, surprised twice: first because the passenger's door was the driver's seat and second because of the quite fine looking lady with the almost bald scalp smiling down at her, asking where she was headed. "Berlin...if you are going east", she called up to Pauline. "Berlin...Osten", Anastasija added with her thick Russian dialect. When Pauline offered to help her out, the thin smile on the Russians face grew wider until it was a big grin and she hopped in. "Ich bin Anastasija...My name is Anastasija", she said again in both broken German and a little more fluent English. "Danke, dass du mich mitnimmst - Thanks for taking me in!"