(III)Moscow : Red Dawn

My wonderful Step-mother Amy is full of it. Full of good advice that is. Why lug around two suitcases when you can stick one in a locker at the airport? Always the right tool for the right job, she likes to say. Call a spade what it is, a shovel! But if she tries to tell you to check two bags on S7 airlines (who never having heard of my step-mum will repeat : "Sorry sir, you may only check one bag"), hold your ground!

Ten euros per kilo later, I make my way through security, but not before bumping into some poor woman on my way (my flight leaves in 10 minutes, go go go!). I realize that my breath is not going to do anyone any favors on the flight and quickly brush my teeth (my flight leaves in 6 minutes, run!). I make it to the gate with plenty of time to spare (5 minutes 'til lift off) and.... not only is there the woman into whom I bumped at security, but the rest of the passengers. They're taking their sweet time loading, or rather preparing to load us. I amble over to Shannon (oh she has a name, she must be an important part of the story!), and apologize for being so rude at security. She's been living in Moscow for the past year teaching english, and she introduces me to her friend and Orthodox nun for the past lifetime and a half!

She and the rest of the plane are leaving dublin after a tour of a bunch of old hills and half buried rocks. You wouldn't think that rocks could be that interesting to talk about, but coming from a nun with a bunch of Russians sitting around to hear the stories again, anything would have been interesting at that point. Alas, like the tower of Babel, we are divided into our seats on the plane unable to communicate.

I idly wonder which city it is that we are passing over right now. Is it Moscow yet? No, we still haven't left the runway. Are we there yet? No, we must be flying over the baltic sea. Wait a minute, we must be close. I know this song. Yes, the pilot said we would be on time and I had timed this song almost perfectly. We're descending, and in the grey squishy thing between my ears echo the words : "I am just a new boy, a stranger in this town. Where are all the good times? Who's gunna show this stranger around?"

I remember only three things before I passed out on my dorm bed. The first was the most anxious moment in my life : "What if she decides they have too many math majors in Russia? Is my visa valid? I don't look anything like my passport photo... Shit, I forgot my piano music!" The customs lady hardly took a second glance at me or my passport. Whatever welcome she might have uttered had she been inclined to be so welcoming would not compare to the immense feeling of joy I felt banging my knee into the metal turnstill on my way into Russia.

The second was after picking up my checked baggage. I walk through customs, and see from the crowd my face staring at me. I'm tripped out on a sleeping pill, in a foreign country, with customs officers trying to talk to me in Russian. The last thing i need is an existential crisis. From behind my face pops up Liza's face, she squints then turns the sign around to reveal my name. After satisfied that my face and my other face are a good enough match, she breaks into a grin and gives me a hug!

In the darkness of early morning we hop into a car, she falls asleep in the back seat, and I get to make small talk (very small, neither of us speak the other's language) with the driver. Domodedova appears to be in the middle of forest. Moscow happens slowly, sneaking up on you. Every now and then you are fooled by a cluster of buildings, maybe purporting to be the edge of Moscow. But you know to wait. I waited and then I saw the sun rise on the city and on my new life in Moscow.