So my 22 hours in Moscow airport has almost come to an end. And I gotta tell you: I haven't been this excited to leave a country since George W Bush was first elected president...
Moscow has been insane. It's the busiest airport in all of Europe, so the transit area literally never stops with the hustle and bustle.
Not like it should be, but nothing here is in English. There are no ATMs here. So when my bank card didn't work at the capsule hotel, I tried to skype call my bank to no avail. I ended up sleeping on the ground all night with earplugs in my ears and the Russian equivelant of Siri making announcements every ten minutes LOUDLY over the intercom first in Russian, then in English. (Yes I know I shouldn't leave my children unattended, goddamnit!!! No, no one else packed my bags! Shit!!!)
Through these announcements I've not only bore witness to Moscow's far reach around the world, but also how similar Ruskies are to us Yankees:
Observations of Russians:
They all look like members of Michael Cera's family.
It's the only European country that I've seen with the same size drinks like the big gulp as large as America's drinks.
Their escalators are automatic- you walk up and they just start. Otherwise, they are just chillin and conserving energy. They also have vending machines with fresh fruit that mechanically squeeze fresh juice for you. Pretty sweet! Literally!
They have no respect for lines- if you turn away for a second and the cashier said "next" then you just lost your place in line.
They, like Americans, have no problem staring at you. So, yet again, I feel like a rockstar. I frequently walked around listening to "I'm gonna be a Supermodel" and Ke$ha songs to help give me some further pep in my gay strut.
There's no vodka for sale anywhere but in the duty free area, where you have to buy it in liters. You can purchase airline sized bottles from duty free, but that's it. But the Russians have no problem drinking from said bottles in the open at 8 in the morning, though. Straight from the bottle...
I read that bodily functions i.e. burping/ farting are considered very rude here. Yet none of them seem bothered by coughing and sneezing into the open air without even attempting to cover their mouths.
Their government may be cracking down on gays but my grindr was clack-a-lacking with tons of chimes from Moscow-ian gays lookin to hook up with ol Special K here!
And finally no wonder they all look so unhappy- the sun rises at noon and sets at 4 pm. Less than 4 hours of sun a day would do me in, too!!!
All in all my Ra-Ra-Rasputing in Russia's love machine of a capital city has been a wild adventure that I'm not likely to ever repeat again, but also not likely to forget. I do allow the Russians leeway because I would hate for anyone to compare Los Angeles or all Americans with how people act at Newark airport...
I think I've figured Russians out. On the outside, they are cold, wooden, round face, winter garbed, and fat like those Russian dolls that stack one inside the previous one: getting smaller and smaller as you open the next.
But once you crack open several of the layers of dolls and toss the halves aside, you are left with a single, little Russian figure: smiling back at you with hope and longing in its eyes.
Ah, Russia!
Dasvidanya, Moscow!!!
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