After a long flight from Rome on Alitalia, my uncle picked us up at JFK airport.
This was a long flight at the end of an almost a year-long journey, so we were all zombies at the time. Also, this was our first long-haul international flight. We didn't know where we would end up until the very last minute. I was 13 years old at the time, and I thought in America everyone has Mercedes or BMW. I was pointing at all the Mercedeses and BMWs in the parking lot: "Is this our car?" "Is this our car?" Finally, at the end of the lot, I found our car was an old Datsun with multi-colored and hood, which was clearly fixed but unpainted. Then, my uncle and aunt, god bless their souls, found a tiny apartment for us in Queens, NY. We were happy to be in our new home, but my childhood dreams of being "rich american" as opposed to "poor soviet" were forever shattered.
After that, the long struggle to acclimatize, assimilate, learn English and try to succeed in our new life ensued, and continues today.