My time in Russia ended on December 18th. Saying goodbye to friends was not that hard because, as the romantics say, "We'll always have Facebook." Saying farewell to my host family made me cry. Up to the very end, Lelya and Nina were trying to get me to stay another semester. :-) Naturally. I gave them my address and email, and I hope to hear from them in the future. Lelya even promised to send me her new songs in the mail! She has her first international fan.
In case I haven't made it clear, traveling to and from Russia is generally an imperial pain. When I flew in Russia in August and November, my travel was fairly stress-free. However, since Russia wanted me to have an authentic experience, getting out of Piter in December became a 30-hour epic adventure. Honestly, though, I should have expected it: my host mom blessed me three times. Anytime she blesses me, something goes seriously wrong, lol. I'm sure she means well, but she must be crossing me improperly or something...
I've already recounted the following story for family and select friends. If, however, you were not privileged to hear the full account, here it is, in stunning HD:
It's 2:30 am and I am standing outside my apartment building in the snow with all my possessions, waiting for Andrei, the man who will be picking up 10 or so of us to go to the airport. Lelya is standing with me, which gives me a companion off of whom to bounce my confusion. I was supposed to be picked up a half hour ago, and the exact location of where the bus will arrive is unclear. I call my apartment buddy (she lives in the same complex down the street a little) to ask whether she knows what's going on. She doesn't. (Little do I know that Nina is calling apartment buddy's host mom to ask the same question.) Eventually, she calls me to say Andrei has just gotten her and they are coming to collect me. Andrei shows up, I hug Lelya one last time, and we set off for the airport. Some are concerned that we won't get there in time to check in and get through security before our flight leaves, but I'm not worried. We arrive at 4, only to find out that my calm was justified: our flight has been canceled.
It's 2:30 am and I am standing outside my apartment building in the snow with all my possessions, waiting for Andrei, the man who will be picking up 10 or so of us to go to the airport. Lelya is standing with me, which gives me a companion off of whom to bounce my confusion. I was supposed to be picked up a half hour ago, and the exact location of where the bus will arrive is unclear. I call my apartment buddy (she lives in the same complex down the street a little) to ask whether she knows what's going on. She doesn't. (Little do I know that Nina is calling apartment buddy's host mom to ask the same question.) Eventually, she calls me to say Andrei has just gotten her and they are coming to collect me. Andrei shows up, I hug Lelya one last time, and we set off for the airport. Some are concerned that we won't get there in time to check in and get through security before our flight leaves, but I'm not worried. We arrive at 4, only to find out that my calm was justified: our flight has been canceled.
Never in my life have I had airline problems. I've never even lost a bag (knock on wood). However, apartment buddy says that bad luck follows her everywhere, and it is apparently strong enough to counterbalance the good luck the rest of us usually have when traveling. Fortunately, Lufthansa has to make accommodations for us, since we didn't do anything wrong except book a flight with Marie. (Sorry, girl.) Unfortunately, it seems the Lufthansa office isn't really staffed at 4 am, which means everyone on the flight gets to stand in line outside the office for hours while the one booking agent tries to figure out where everyone needs to go. I'm really not that annoyed, because I have faith the efficient Germans will figure something out and get all of us back to the States. I begin to lose faith when I learn that line buddy #1 (henceforth, Annie) has been through this yesterday. Yes, she had a flight out of Piter on the 17th that was canceled, was put on my flight on the 18th, which was canceled. Worse comes to worse, I don't leave Russia today, take a bus back to Nina and stay an extra night. (My visa is good until the 21st.) But I've already said my goodbyes and I am finally ready to leave.
The going is slow and we're irritated mostly because we haven't slept since yesterday. Every time someone comes out of the Lufthansa office, those of us in line attack like zombies, wanting information about where people are being re-routed. After three hours in line, I'm told that I'm now flying through Moscow and Atlanta instead of Frankfurt and Chicago. This may seem simple enough, but remember that I am in Russia. Nothing is that simple. I must acquaint you with the Pulkovo airport. Or, more accurately, airports.
You might recall that Piter's airport has two terminals: one for international flights, and one for domestic. My Lufthansa flight was taking me to Germany, which meant I was flying out of Pulkovo 2. However, my new itinerary was taking me through Moscow, which flew out of Pulkovo 1. No big deal, you say. Simply walk to the next terminal. Great idea, except that Pulkovo 1 and 2 are about 5-10 minutes away by car. Yes, that means I get to take a cab to Pulkovo 1 to make my plane. I hire a cab, wait ten minutes for him to arrive, and pay an exorbitant amount for the short ride. (Let me put it this way: Annie paid twice as much for her taxi from her homestay to the airport, and the ride was 45 minutes long.) At that point, though, I was simply happy that I had enough money on me to pay the guy, and I needed to hustle to get to Pulkovo 1.
I arrive and check in for my flight, when I learn that Aeroflot can't transfer my bags to Atlanta, and I need to claim them and re-check them in Moscow. I laugh. I go through security with Annie and travel buddy #2 (henceforth Brian), get my pat down, and start going to the terminal/gate when Brian realizes his visa and migration card are gone. If he doesn't find them, he can't leave the country. So we wait as he calls program coordinators and goes back through security, coming back emtpy-handed. Annie and I decide to go to the terminal while Brian goes back again to search. The walk to the terminal is through this long, underground tunnel, which is getting colder and colder as we walk. Walking down the escalators (which, hilariously, aren't working - oh, Russia) and then climbing the stairs, we find ourselves...outdoors. We're separated from the snow and tarmac by two panes of glass. A coffee machine stands in the middle of the "terminal" as if it makes everything better. After gate changes and a half-hour of delays, Annie and I, resembling popsicles, get on the shuttle to take us to the plane. For the first time of the entire semester, I am sick of Piter and want to leave. Just before the bus doors close to take us to the plane, Brian jumps on, having found his paperwork. We celebrate.
We arrive in Moscow and run to baggage claim, where by God's grace our bags are some of the first ones off. We have an hour to check in and go through security before our flight to Atlanta takes off, so we go to the desk that says "international transfers" and are told that we need to go to another terminal to check in. It's a 20 minute run away. We get there and the green customs channel is closed, and there is a crowd of people waiting NOT to declare something. I consider hopping the gate, but the Russians come and open it up. Annie, Brian and I act like Russians and cut everyone in line, get our bags scanned, go to check in, get in the wrong line ("What is the purpose of your visit to Israel?"), get in the right line, and are told that our plane is already boarding. We know that. We just need to get through customs and security, but the Russians are taking their sweet time, asking us questions about whether we bought anything in the airport, whether we have weapons in our bags, whether strangers have handled our bags since we landed...Finally, they're done scrutinizing our paperwork and they take our bags - but the conveyor belt isn't working. We now have 10 mins to get to our plane before it takes off and we're stuck in Russia, so we just leave our bags with the check-in guys and hope they take them to the plane.
At passport control, Annie and I get through okay, but Brian is told to go into the line for Russian citizens (???) and it takes him about 3x as long to make it through. We run to security, get another pat down, and get into the terminal. We need to get to gate 55 and we're at 32, so we run some more. To our giddy delight, we find that our plane has been delayed, and folks are standing outside the gate in a giant mass, like at the Chernyshevskaya metro station. Why? Because airport attendants are hand-searching every carry-on bag. This is the fourth time my bag has been inspected since I arrived in Moscow, but I don't care, because I am actually leaving the country. I open up my bag for the indifferent Russian lady and I overhear an American man complaining to a Russian airport official that this system is inefficient, that he's already had his bags checked out, that he travels all the time and never is treated like this, that people in business class aren't getting their bags searched and they could be bringing anything on the plane, that this is ridiculous...Annie, Brian and I find this hilarious. I want to remind him that he's in Russia and ask him what he was expecting, but I get in line like a patient Russian.
I finally board, but since I'm one of the last ones, there is now no space in the overhead compartments for my carry-on bag because some schmuck thought it was okay to put his jacket in the overhead bins and not move it for me. There is no space in economy at all. There is no space in business class. I'm ticked off at this point, and when the flight attendant tells me I'm going to have to check my bag, I get snippy. It's not that my bag's too big, I inform her, it's that people are putting things in the bins that they shouldn't, and that I refuse to check my luggage. I see a bin marked "Crew Use Only" and ask if I can use that. She reluctantly agrees.
The 12 hour flight to Atlanta is okay; I sleep a little and chat with my seatmate, who is a band tour manager for artists like Ke$ha. We land in America and start clapping, though Annie, Brian and I are definitely more relieved to be on American soil than anyone else. My customs experience is very Russian: I am told to stand in one line, and they guy goes on a coffee break. Then I stand in another line, and the guy closes for some reason. The third line I stand in moves slowly, and then grinds to a halt when the person in front of me requires a Russian translator. Another customs agent opens a counter for me and I finally go down to baggage claim. Annie, Brian and I watch everyone else retrieve their luggage...we start to sweat, thinking that our bags never made it out of Moscow, but they come eventually, and we head over to re-check them and go through security. I get chosen to walk through the metal detector, but Annie and Brian go through the scanning machine and get pat downs. At the final stage of customs, I hand in my customs declaration form and the lady looks at it, looks at me and asks how old I am. Then she asks how long I was in Russia. Then if I studied abroad. Then where I studied and with whom I stayed. Then she tells me to be careful and to go on through. Lol?
I get to my gate and learn that my plane is delayed. I just laugh and call my mom. Boarding is slow because the computer has frozen and the airline official has to do everything by hand, but she's American, so we actually get on board in a reasonable amount of time. I sit in front of a Russian couple and feel a little better about all the English that's going on around me. My seatmates are this cool older lady and a guy who's just gotten back from Afghanistan. We chat for a while, I sleep, and we arrive in Phoenix without hassles. My bag takes a while to show up, but I collect it, wish my soldier buddy well and go home, finally, at 11pm. Naturally, I want to talk all about Russia, and I do for an hour, but my parents are tired and go to sleep. I have a bowl of cereal and rejoice over my sorely-missed American breakfast food. I watch Happy Feet and then go to sleep.
Until next time,
Katya
