I’m not. This really is a new Russia. I’m not talking only about the big changes: the collapse of communism and the development of democracy, however flawed and fragile. Those changes are now taken for granted, perhaps too much so. What has intrigued me just as much are the changes in individual behavior, Russia’s street-level transformation.

I mean that quite literally. When I came back to Moscow in late 1994 I had forgotten the how-to’s of Russian traffic etiquette. I would stop for pedestrians trying to cross the street, and they would freeze. They were either bewildered or angry: was this some kind of trick to lure them out and then run them down? In Soviet times, the right of way always belonged to the bigger car, and between a car and a pedestrian, there was never any contest. That’s still usually true. But pedestrians are occasionally now given a break – and sometimes they even nod their thanks.

Russians can be incredibly generous with friends or guests, but public courtesy was always the rarest of commodities. Now, it crops up more often – in stores, roadside cafs or chance encounters. Russian stairwells are infamous for their state of filthy neglect, even in upscale buildings. The fact that some public spaces are beginning to be spruced up is far more than an esthetic gain: it represents progress toward overcoming one of the worst legacies of the old era. As writer Viktor Erofeyev has said: ““We’re very strong in culture but very weak in civiliza- tion.’’ The trappings of civilization do matter.

So do rules that can be reasonably followed. Russia still has an excess of rules as it did in the Soviet era, but an acute shortage of rational ones. This encourages lawlessness. Everyone has heard of the mafiosi ““businessmen’’ who stash millions in Swiss bank accounts. Less known are the hardworking entrepreneurs and private farmers who, if given half a chance, would be law-abiding but can’t. Confiscatory tax codes and other regulations give state officials the leeway to strangle anyone, making crooks (or at least corner- cutters) out of otherwise hon- est people.

Equally infuriating for the nascent middle class is the brazen behavior of the thieves who prey upon them, confident that they will never be caught. One Muscovite bought a new refrigerator for his modest weekend dacha, and came up with what he saw as the perfect plan to foil them. Figuring no one would steal a refrigerator without a door, he took the door home with him to Moscow. When he came back the following weekend, the refrigerator was gone. A note warned: ““Bring back the door or we’ll burn down the dacha.’’ He quickly complied.

The corrosion is at every level – including, once again, the street. Traffic cops routinely stop cars simply to extort bribes, improvising alleged ““violations’’ of obscure rules. Late one night last week, one threatened to impound my car unless I produced a letter from myself, as the NEWSWEEK bureau chief, authorizing myself to drive the office car. I knew this was nonsense, but I paid instead of calling his bluff. Journalists face their own specific problems – outright requests for payments for interviews, or for routine information. Recently, a press spokesman for a local official demanded a bottle of gin when I wanted to find out how many votes his boss received in the last election. And the Russian media has its darker side: journalists who accept payments to provide ““hidden advertising’’ in the form of flattering articles or TV shows.

Given the spiritual devastation of the Soviet era, perhaps it is surprising to find anyone with a moral compass. But I’ve found plenty. In the old days, I admired the dissidents who were willing to pay any price for their beliefs. The heroes for me this time are the people I met who are instilling a new sense of civic responsibility – ordinary for most societies, still extraordinary for Russia. In Volokolamsk, there is the woman doctor who runs a highly effective program to cut down on multiple abortions (six to eight for the average Russian woman) by distributing contraceptives. In Vologda, there are the teachers in a new Russian Orthodox Sunday school working hard to instill a sense of right and wrong in their young charges. And everywhere I encountered history teachers trying to honestly confront their country’s tortured legacy, and young people with very normal dreams and none of the instinctive fears of their elders.

My expulsion in 1982 was a wrenching experience: my Russian friends and I believed we might never meet again. This time, it’s easier to say goodbye. Friendships between Russians and a Western correspondent are not as charged in the new Russia, since the danger in such relationships has mercifully evaporated. Russian friends no longer have to fear KGB interrogation or arrest. And I fully expect to be visiting regularly, as I would any normal country.

My friends will say that Russia is still a long way from being a normal country. They are fond of invoking the analogy of Moses, who led his people out of slavery in Egypt and made them wander the desert for 40 years until the slave mentality died out with the older generation. Russia, too, needs 40 years, they say, to achieve normality. I’m a Westerner, more optimistic by nature. But not too optimistic, since I’ve lived in both the old and new Russia. I’d give the process 20 years.