You Don't Know How Lucky You Are

(Random thoughts and observations from a day at the airport)

Traveling in Russia without speaking the language is like trying to decipher a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. While blindfolded. It can confound and exhaust even the most experienced of traveler.

The light snow falling at Moscow's Sheremetyevo 1 creates an even more dour day for the dour crowd assembled. The lifeless colors of the terminal makes the grays even grayer. You don't often see travelers in Russia smile. There's a grim resignation on most of the faces, especially the eyes. I wonder if that would make them good poker players.

Putting the first security checkpoint five feet inside the front door might not have been the best idea. Does anyone know what a line is?

Do the words "customer service" exist in the Russian language? Or does it just seem like "It's not my job" syndrome has run amok?

Flight delayed two hours. Through the security line twice. Five-hundred rubles from the cash machine. Is that enough? Over twenty dollars for water, potatoes, and fish of questionable origin? Forgot to grab a receipt. Damn.

Passes to the business class lounge. No, not this business class lounge, the one opposite the Irish Bar. Oh, you mean the one that doesn't exist?

Guys boarding the aircraft carrying plastic bags with loose cans of beer. What would the TSA think?

Down the stairs to the bus. Take the bus out to the plane. Exit the bus and stand outside in blowing snow to board. Does anyone know what a line is?

In my seat at last. Flight delayed again. Whiskey? Da, whiskey.