THEY HAVE MIRROR TVS IN MOSCOW
There's something refreshing about waking up at 5 AM the day after your 21st birthday stone cold sober. Even moreso if you're to be arriving at the GFK airport by 6 in order to catch a flight at 7. It's not as refreshing as taking a nice long shower after hopping around airplanes for seventeen hours.
Russians apparently have a popular superstition (many of them, in fact) that if you sit on your suitcase for at least thirty seconds before leaving on a trip, you'll have good luck. All eight of us forgot to do so, and as a result, a low cloud ceiling cancelled a number of flights and caused the Grand Forks terminal to be as busy has we've seen it in a long, long time. No matter, though, because we had tickets, which meant that we were guaranteed seats on the airplane, which was a huge step forward from flying standby like I'm used to. The downside was being cramped in economy class, but on a ten-hour flight from New York to Moscow with unlimited beverages (within reason) and an airplane full of Russian locals, the time passed quickly.
Especially when you're drifting in and out of sleep in your body's mad attempt to pretend it's in the right time zone.
Some of us were able to sleep better than others.
Ignoring Chip and Julie's mad attempts to murder those around them with obnoxiously silly jokes, and besides Chip's giant clown nose gaining him more than his fair share of Muscovite female attention, the flight was enjoyable, even when it was interspersed with periodic bathroom breaks in celebration of what must have been an entire pot of coffee.
The first thing any of us learned upon landing in Russia, is that Julie's a big fat liar. During meetings and in informational e-mails she described Moscow's passport control as a cement basement with no windows lined with men with guns who'll take you down if you so much as breathe too loudly, when in fact there was only one gentleman with a single sidearm, and everyone was civil and polite. The second thing we learned was that our travel agency dropped the ball on earning us transportation from the Moscow Airport (which is out in the boonies) to our hotel (which is six metro stops away from Red Square). A bit too far to walk, we had to take an overpriced bus of a taxi to our hotel, which is a quaint little thing with mattress springs for bed and a really cool bathroom.
Nine hours ahead of CST back home, it was 4 AM back in Grand Forks when we finally checked into our rooms. We crashed, and if it hadn't been for Sara shaking me to wake me up, I'm sure I would have slept for more than an hour. After stealing Dima's granola bars and taking a warm shower, we were set to go eat somewhere, and Julie promised us a trip to Red Square, "just to reinforce the fact we're actually in Moscow." We scoffed at the idea then, having been immersed in the Russian language and carrying rubles, but one look at Saint Basil's Cathedral standing kitty-corner from the Kremlin building and the realization hit us like some sort of religious epiphany. Prior to that, however, we had to fight our way through an open-air market to get to the metro from our hotel, and eventually from the metro to a Tibetan restaurant. Yes, Dad, it DID taste like Thai.
We lingered around Red Square for so long, our "shortcut" through the market was closed for the night, and we spent two hours trying to find another way to our little local hotel, which sits on the aptly-named Hotel Street. We ended up being forced to call cabs, because it was nearing nine o'clock, it was snowing, and our feet were getting very, very cold. All Russian cabbies, by the way, have some sort of love affair going on with their gas pedal. Russian cabs are like death traps. Really quite expensive death traps.
Two of us managed to get sick on the flight, so we got to poke around a Russian pharmacy trying to find good medicine. Thank God for that Golosa chapter on complaining about throats hurting and noses running. There was a plan to head down to the hotel bar for nightcaps, but a good number of us are too tired to really care. See, I knew I was coming down with something other than a case of the jetlags when I disembarked the Metro at Pushkin Square and didn't giggle like a schoolgirl.
Also, I saw Putin!
Actually, it was just a giant motorcade for an unmarked car with black windows, but for the sake of this trip, we're going to claim it's Putin.
Also:
YEAH. BET YOU THOUGHT I WAS JOKING.
Russians apparently have a popular superstition (many of them, in fact) that if you sit on your suitcase for at least thirty seconds before leaving on a trip, you'll have good luck. All eight of us forgot to do so, and as a result, a low cloud ceiling cancelled a number of flights and caused the Grand Forks terminal to be as busy has we've seen it in a long, long time. No matter, though, because we had tickets, which meant that we were guaranteed seats on the airplane, which was a huge step forward from flying standby like I'm used to. The downside was being cramped in economy class, but on a ten-hour flight from New York to Moscow with unlimited beverages (within reason) and an airplane full of Russian locals, the time passed quickly.
Especially when you're drifting in and out of sleep in your body's mad attempt to pretend it's in the right time zone.
Some of us were able to sleep better than others.
Ignoring Chip and Julie's mad attempts to murder those around them with obnoxiously silly jokes, and besides Chip's giant clown nose gaining him more than his fair share of Muscovite female attention, the flight was enjoyable, even when it was interspersed with periodic bathroom breaks in celebration of what must have been an entire pot of coffee.
The first thing any of us learned upon landing in Russia, is that Julie's a big fat liar. During meetings and in informational e-mails she described Moscow's passport control as a cement basement with no windows lined with men with guns who'll take you down if you so much as breathe too loudly, when in fact there was only one gentleman with a single sidearm, and everyone was civil and polite. The second thing we learned was that our travel agency dropped the ball on earning us transportation from the Moscow Airport (which is out in the boonies) to our hotel (which is six metro stops away from Red Square). A bit too far to walk, we had to take an overpriced bus of a taxi to our hotel, which is a quaint little thing with mattress springs for bed and a really cool bathroom.
Nine hours ahead of CST back home, it was 4 AM back in Grand Forks when we finally checked into our rooms. We crashed, and if it hadn't been for Sara shaking me to wake me up, I'm sure I would have slept for more than an hour. After stealing Dima's granola bars and taking a warm shower, we were set to go eat somewhere, and Julie promised us a trip to Red Square, "just to reinforce the fact we're actually in Moscow." We scoffed at the idea then, having been immersed in the Russian language and carrying rubles, but one look at Saint Basil's Cathedral standing kitty-corner from the Kremlin building and the realization hit us like some sort of religious epiphany. Prior to that, however, we had to fight our way through an open-air market to get to the metro from our hotel, and eventually from the metro to a Tibetan restaurant. Yes, Dad, it DID taste like Thai.
We lingered around Red Square for so long, our "shortcut" through the market was closed for the night, and we spent two hours trying to find another way to our little local hotel, which sits on the aptly-named Hotel Street. We ended up being forced to call cabs, because it was nearing nine o'clock, it was snowing, and our feet were getting very, very cold. All Russian cabbies, by the way, have some sort of love affair going on with their gas pedal. Russian cabs are like death traps. Really quite expensive death traps.
Two of us managed to get sick on the flight, so we got to poke around a Russian pharmacy trying to find good medicine. Thank God for that Golosa chapter on complaining about throats hurting and noses running. There was a plan to head down to the hotel bar for nightcaps, but a good number of us are too tired to really care. See, I knew I was coming down with something other than a case of the jetlags when I disembarked the Metro at Pushkin Square and didn't giggle like a schoolgirl.
Also, I saw Putin!
Actually, it was just a giant motorcade for an unmarked car with black windows, but for the sake of this trip, we're going to claim it's Putin.
Also:
YEAH. BET YOU THOUGHT I WAS JOKING.