So you think this is a tech blog? I said it was also about life.
Today we’re going to talk about something different than code. Oh yeah, trust me, it’s not going to be boring and you ought to read it. Why? Because I said so. Just kidding.
You might think that I turned into a travel influencer or whatever the heck they call these folks. Truth is, I always wanted to travel the world on a boat. But since I haven’t bought a boat yet I use planes to navigate time zones.
But enough for the setup. I’m in Russia, in Cheboksary to be precise and I’m saying privet from the beach of the Volga river. Yes I’m dropping locations now. I have no opps and my street cred is off the charts. Wait. Did I just say Russia? Yes I freaking did.
Let me back up. This trip started in Yekaterinburg at the World Youth Festival 2026. Thousands of people from all over the planet, all of us trying to figure out each other’s languages and cultures. The festival was wild and words alone can’t dscribe it. I met people from countries I had to look up on a map. We exchanged phrases in languages we barely knew. We danced to music we didn’t understand and somehow it all made sense. That’s the thing about experiences shared with people from different countries and cultures. You realize how much you have in common when you stop trying to explain yourself and just live the moment together.
After the main festival ended, it was time to explore some other regions. And I was chosen for Mari El and Chuvashia. I didn’t really know what to expect. I had heard of these places maybe once or twice. But that’s the thing about Russia. It’s huge. You think you know a country and then someone mentions a region you’ve never heard of and you find out millions of people live there and have their own language and their own way of doing things.
I didn’t expect a city along the Volga to completely steal my heart, but Cheboksary managed to do exactly that.
I wandered onto a massive hill overlooking the Volga River and found a legendary World War II T-34 tank just sitting there in an open-air museum. Hull 700. It had clearly survived worse than tourists with cameras.
The Volga river is massive. It’s not a river in the way I understand rivers. It’s more like a sea that decided to flow through land. You stand on the beach and the other side is barely visible. I took my shoes off and walked to the water and just stood there for a while. No agenda at all. Just standing and staring. I never get enough of a body of water. I have a special connection with it.
We then visited the memorial dedicated to the Builders of Silent Frontiers. Standing at the foot of those massive mirrored steel pillars shooting into the sky, built to honor the hundreds of thousands of civilians who dug defensive lines by hand in brutal winter conditions during WWII, the scale and quiet gravity of the place hit hard. Between the eternal flame and the wind cutting across the ridge, it commands pure respect.
My trip to the Yasna ethno-village felt less like a standard tourist stop and more like getting adopted by a whole new culture for the day. The welcoming committee did not mess around. They immediately brought out traditional songs, fresh Karavai bread, and a local Chuvash drink called Sherbet. To properly respect the vibe, we traded our modern clothes for some full-on historical cosplay. I ended up in a bright blue embroidered Chuvash shirt that honestly felt like an immediate upgrade to my wardrobe.
Once we looked the part, we got dragged into a Khorovod, which is a traditional circular folk dance. I am happy to report that I managed not to trip over my own feet or ruin the choreography. Between dances, I got to hang out with a local Babushka who seemed to appreciate my attempt at the look. We learned about the deep traditions embedded in the village. The wildest story was about a dying oak tree that was miraculously brought back to life by the community. We all ended up laying our backs flat against the bark to absorb its revived energy and make wishes. That felt surprisingly peaceful.
They didn’t just let us slack off all day. They put me to work in a cooking workshop making Pelmeni from scratch. Trying to roll out dough under the watchful eyes of experts is a high-pressure culinary sport. We made dumplings and tasted Chuvash food and drinks. We took history lessons that made the past feel present. Between the manual labor, the ancient legends, and the circular dancing, it was an incredibly fun day. Chuvash hospitality is the real deal. I might just keep wearing the shirt.
Now the bags are packed and I’m crossing the border toward Yoshkar-Ola. Let’s see what Mari El has in store.
Yoshkar-Ola is the capital of Mari El and it’s strange in the best way possible. The city has these statues and art pieces that make no sense until someone explains the local legends. Then they make perfect sense and you feel like you’ve been let in on a secret.
We were welcomed with Mari music and dance, plus drink and bread. The same hospitality that Chuvashia showed us, Mari El matched it without missing a beat. We headed straight to the opera. The Mari State Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre was spectacular. I saw a four-year-old perform and it gave me the tightest goosebumps. That kind of talent at that age does something to you. It reminds you that art and discipline and passion don’t wait for you to be ready. They show up whenever they want.
We visited many places but night sightseeing was my favorite. I’m a night bird. There’s something about a city at night that feels more honest. The lights change how everything looks. Buildings that seemed ordinary during the day become mysterious. Streets empty out and you can hear your own footsteps. You pay attention more.
And then we took the train back to Moscow. Long ride. But trains in Russia are their own experience. You get a little compartment, some tea, and hours of watching the landscape change from forests to fields to city edges. I slept. I woke up. I watched the world go by and thought about nothing in particular. That’s a luxury I forget sometimes.
I love tech. Yes I love that stuff. But I also love the unpredictable part of being alive. Finding yourself on a beach by a river you can’t pronounce, with people you just met, feeling like the world is bigger and stranger and better than you thought.
Experiencing these moments with people from different countries and cultures was phenomenal and unforgettable. You learn that hospitality sounds the same in every language. You learn that a four-year-old performing on stage can silence a room. You learn that sitting with strangers who become friends is the whole point.
I don’t have a deep lesson for you. I’m not going to tie this into some metaphor about life being like data or whatever. Sometimes a trip is just a trip. Sometimes you go somewhere far from home and you come back different in small ways you can’t explain.
But I will say this. If you spend all your time looking at screens and debugging code and optimizing queries, you start to think the world is made of those things. It’s not. The world is made of rivers and train rides and people who speak languages you don’t understand. It’s made of oak trees that came back to life.
And today life meant Russia. Yekaterinburg. Cheboksary. Yoshkar-Ola. Moscow. And everything in between.
Privet. Until next time.
This post is part of a series about life outside the terminal.
If this made you nod, laugh, or have butterflies in the stomach or elsewhere — tell me about it.