My First Trip to Russia: A Decisive Turning Point in My Life

In this article, I want to tell you how I discovered Russia and Russian women. It's a personal account that, I hope, can give hope — the hope of a future elsewhere — to men who no longer find happiness at home.

The Breakup

A grey Sunday morning, the light barely seeping between the drawn curtains. In the bedroom, the dry sound of a zipper sliding shut. She's bent over her suitcase, methodically packing her things. I'm sitting by the window, my gaze lost on the garden. There are no words left, just a heavy silence.

Everything seemed solid, though. Two careers well underway, friends, plans. And this love… or so I believed. But for months, one subject had been gnawing at our relationship: children. I wanted them; she no longer knew. Over time, disagreement became discord, then taboo. We tried therapy, but our sentences rang hollow, our hands no longer met.

She closes her suitcase. I feel it's the end. My whole life was built around her, and in an instant, everything collapses. I sit there, motionless, searching that low sky for a direction to take.

Impossible to stay frozen. I have to leave.

At 25, I had already experienced expatriation, and the idea of leaving everything to start over elsewhere comes naturally. Perhaps a flight… but forward.

Where to go? I draw up a list in my head: a country where I could put down roots, find a cultural and spiritual balance. Francophone Africa, which I loved, feels too far away to settle in. I also need a certain comfort, and safety.

And then, little by little, one name stands out. Russia.

I have always felt a fascination for this country: its immense landscapes, its culture, its grave and proud faces. Its heroic history captivates me, especially its military past — the Second World War, Stalingrad, the Red Army marching on Berlin. Russia, to me, is the eternal outsider, the one that doesn't bend, the one that still defies American hegemony. And suddenly, it's decided: that's where I'll get back on my feet.

First Steps Toward Russian Culture

To get a feel for Russian culture, I join a Franco-Russian association in Brittany. There I discover the basics of the language and the richness of its traditional cuisine — pelmeni, blinis… Soon, the urge to discover Russia in person becomes pressing.

Within the association, some talk of grand projects: the Trans-Siberian, Lake Baikal, the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg. But I quickly realize these aren't projects, only dreams. They'll talk about them for years without ever moving — dreamers, no offense. My professional life, shaped by project management, taught me one thing: a dream without action leads nowhere.

If I want to discover Russia, I'll have to plan this trip myself. People recommend Moscow, but the city seems too immense, too intimidating for a first step. Sochi, on the other hand, strikes me as ideal: a seaside town, mild climate, human scale, and above all that closeness to the sea that reminds me of my native Brittany. For the logistics, the practical guide to a trip to Russia covers the essentials.

In January 2020, everything is ready: two weeks in Sochi to discover Russia, learn Russian and — why not — meet a partner. A tall order.

On departure day, I take a train to Paris, then a bus to Charles-de-Gaulle, a flight to Moscow, and finally a domestic flight to Sochi. From the moment I board in Paris, I get a visual jolt: the Aeroflot flight attendants, elegant and stunning, already set the tone. The adventure can begin.

Sochi, January 2020 — still a wide-eyed tourist.

Arriving in Russia: First Impressions

When I land in Sochi, I feel like the perfect tourist: a little lost, but amazed. The sky is a brilliant blue and I'm genuinely happy to be here.

Barely outside, a taxi driver built like a Georgian wrestler approaches to take me to my hotel. Too tired to haggle, I accept without arguing. He's friendly, asks where I'm from, and is surprised to see a Frenchman landing in Sochi. I stammer a few words in Russian; he answers in English. In a comradely tone, he offers to become my personal driver for the stay and hands me his card. I slip it into my pocket and thank him.

At the hotel, the receptionist helps me install all the useful apps for my stay. The room, by French standards, is spacious but sparsely equipped. No matter: I don't intend to spend much time there. Discovering Russia won't happen within four walls.

The Language School in Sochi

The very next day, I start my Russian lessons in a small private school, where special classes have been opened for foreigners.

The director welcomes me with a warm smile, but a sharp business sense: she immediately offers me add-ons — private lessons, excursions… I politely decline, preferring to focus on the group classes I've already booked.

There are only four of us in the class, and two classmates quickly win my sympathy. A young Spaniard, a football enthusiast who dreams of becoming a talent scout in the Russian-speaking world. And a former Chinese tennis player who wants to become a coach in Russia. Both radiate balance: frank gazes, attention to the lesson, impeccable notes in four-color pencil. The third stands out — an Indian man in his forties, married to a Russian woman, trying to carve out a place here: nervous, he scribbles on crumpled sheets and never misses a chance to complain about the school's fees, even going so far as to call the management crooks.

During the coffee breaks, we get to know each other. They give me tips on the good spots… and the traps to avoid in town.

But the central figure of these classes is undeniably the teacher: Ksenia. Almost 1m80, 25 years old, brunette, with captivating eyes, an impeccable English carried by a Russian accent that takes nothing away. Charm enough to knock you off your chair. From the very first lesson, her presence and her naturalness absorb me. I force myself to keep my eyes on the board. Not here to ogle the teacher… in theory.

I took this photo to memorize verbs — and I remembered them. Take photos!

A Pleasant Routine in Sochi

Every afternoon, after class, I head to a gym. It's called "Valentin," like me. Perched on a hill, it offers a panoramic view over Sochi and the Black Sea.

In front of the "Valentin" gym — yes, like me.

I discover the Russian take on working out: people push hard. The girls do squats, the guys bench press — nothing new — but the commitment is impressive. The guys are huge, the girls don't have an ounce of fat: quite a change from France. The atmosphere is friendly without being warm: no one shakes hands, no one talks. I try to strike up a conversation; it doesn't catch on.

In the evening, time for meeting people. A few weeks earlier, I had installed Badoo to chat with Russian women. In France, the app carries a bad reputation, often associated with lowlifes (pardon the expression); in Russia, it's used by normal people, even if Tinder already dominated the market at the time. Its advantage: free relocation, which let you chat with people in other countries. So even before leaving, I had been able to talk with several women and suggest meeting up in Sochi.

These dates led me to discover local restaurants, sometimes strangely empty — enough to joke about money laundering. The meetings go well, the girls are stunning, but despite some lovely moments, nothing really materializes.

Tinder in Russia

On the fifth evening, out of curiosity, I install Tinder and start swiping. Like a good French user, I use the least glorious but most effective technique: everyone to the right. In other words, I request a match with every profile that comes up.

Very quickly, my ego swells at the number of matches. In France, my experiences had been mixed — ordinary girls, convinced they were princesses, had quickly worn me out. Here in Sochi, it's a different story. The matches pile up… until an unexpected profile appears: that of my teacher, Ksenia.

In her first photo, she poses in a park, smiling, natural. In the second, she's with her cat and a cup of tea: it's cute, authentic, nothing provocative… and I love it. I freeze. I'm clearly drawn to her… but she's my teacher. And then I think: what the hell. I swipe right — and discover, stunned, that she did the same. It's a match.

I stare at the screen, undecided. Then a "Bonjour" in French pops up. Not only did she take the initiative to write to me, she does it in my language. We exchange a few words. I ask whether it bothers her, given her job. She says no, punctuates it with a smiley. I suggest dinner… that very evening. She accepts at once.

Not a minute to lose: I rush out to buy a bouquet of flowers, as Russian tradition dictates, then book a Japanese restaurant on the seafront. The date is set.

A Perfect First Date

From the very first minutes, a natural complicity sets in. We laugh at my linguistic blunders, and the Russian lesson continues even at the table: she teaches me a word to impress the waiter, "blagodaryu" (благодарю), more polite and refined than the classic "spasiba." The waiter answers me in English anyway — and I understand that the road to mastering Russian will still be long. Very long.

I feel good with her. The restaurant is warm, the sushi exquisite. Ksenia claims that the best country for sushi, outside Japan, is Russia. I love that way of puffing out her chest and celebrating her country. In France, we were taught the opposite: to downplay our strengths, to disparage our history. Listening to her, I become aware of this contrast.

When the meal ends, she gently takes my hand and launches into a monologue lasting several minutes. She speaks of our meeting, of the fate that brought us together, and gives back to me, with startling accuracy, everything she has perceived of me. She compares our past wounds, points out our similarities. It's a genuine moment of connection: her words come from the heart and pass through mine.

Her sharpness impresses me. Few people know how to listen, synthesize and analyze like that. Ksenia isn't only beautiful — she's brilliant. Still caught in the emotion, I try to answer with the same intensity: I confess my attraction, born from the very first lesson, the very first minute. I evoke the fate that led me thousands of kilometers from home, to this city, this school, this classroom.

I sense she's moved, even if she tries to hide it. Beneath that façade of coolness, I perceive a tenderness I would later find in many Russian women.

After dinner, we walk slowly along the seafront, soothed by the sound of the waves. Hand in hand, we no longer speak: only our eyes exchange. We know it: we have found each other. A first kiss under the starry Sochi night. The moment is perfect. She is perfect.

A Relationship Full of Promise

As the days go by, our story blossoms with disarming obviousness. A Sochi native, Ksenia opens the doors of her city to me: its authentic corners, its parks, those places only locals know. We share moments of deep complicity, as if time no longer existed for us.

Yet it passes far too quickly. The time to return to France approaches, and with it that pang in the heart. Before parting, we sincerely promise to continue this story at a distance, convinced we'll find a thousand ways to build a shared future.

But barely back, the world tips over. The Covid-19 pandemic and the first lockdown shatter our momentum. She, in Sochi, unable to join me; me, in France, shut in. The prospects fade. After a few weeks of desperately searching for a way out, we have to face the facts: we must put an end to this relationship. Distance with no end date got the better of us — a trap I break down in detail in this guide on long-distance relationships.

It was like a summer love… in the middle of January. Passionate, intense, but fleeting.

Bouncing Back Once Again

Today, several years after that first trip, settled in Russia alongside another Russian partner, I fully measure how decisive that first experience was. Ksenia was the one who truly opened the doors of Russian culture to me: its women, its codes, its simple yet warm everyday life.

In January 2020, that stay was no mere tourist getaway. It marked a deep turning point in my life. Sometimes a single encounter or place is enough to redirect an entire trajectory; that first trip to Russia was, for me, that precise instant when I tipped over into a new existence, full of promise.

Forever I will keep these memories: the freshness of those first emotions, the wonder of discovery, and the gentle image of Ksenia — symbol of a land that gave me so much, and to which I am now deeply attached.

The first step was never to find a Russian woman. The first step is to get on the plane.

If you're reading these lines torn between staying in the familiar and trying the unknown, the answer may already lie in your hesitation. Today, I help other men take that step within a structured framework, without repeating the mistakes I made on my own: that's the whole point of the agency's support.

Valentin Le Normand — director of the Valentin agency