August 26, 2004
holiday to russia: reflections
The plane was two hours late. It was 12:00 midnight. Dima, Ioulia, the unborn son, and I finally boarded Aeroflot Airbus A-320-100 in Dubai. The flight was five hours. No in-flight movie, & no TV screens on the backs of the standard configuration naughahide upholstered seats. I understood (and accepted the terms gladly) how it is possible to fly Moscow Dubai on $410.00 Am. My wife said she loved me.
I slept on the plane much more comfortably than I had expected. Dima dibbed the window seat, wife said she wanted the middle seat, so I got the aisle seat. We descended and I saw Russia for the first time in my life. We came from the desert; how green the forests look from 5000 feet! At 7:00 in the morning Moscow’s southern edge slipped under us: a patterned silk sheet of civic topography, morning-lit by the still horizon-bound, ochre sun. The unborn son kicked my wife in the belly from the inside and she said: "oh!"
The landing was like something out of an Alex Hailey novel. Nonetheless, the professional Aeroflot drivers got the plane down without too much worry – if you’re a normal passenger, that is, without an aircraft maintenance licence, a PPL, 20-hours towards a CPL, and 10-ODD years of “finding stuff out” in your back pocket. We all unfastened our seatbelts well before the sign went out and well before the aircraft came to a complete stop and there was nothing the flight attendants could do about it.
We roared along, in subtle, Rolls-Royce, high by-pass ratio, big-jet, fashion, up to the Sheremyetevo Two airport terminal and the gate #2 ramp/walkway thingy coupled itself to our aircraft door through some secret society of aircraft ground-handlers’ magic. Overhead racks were popped open hurriedly and they vomited forth luggage of regulated shape and size into the arms of their owners. And we waited, standing in between the seats, migration cards filled out and ready to hand to ultra-suspecting passport control officers. I have never seen such scrutiny of documents in my life.
We were the only passengers there because it was seven in the morning and the officers were taking their time. At least ten minutes per pax. After a good hour or so, I finally made it up to the window, feeling quite confident. I had an invitation from my mother-in-law to visit Russia and had gotten my visa previously and properly done in Dubai at the consulate. I smiled and handed the keen young officer my passport and waited as he scrutinised and scrutinised some more. Utraviolet lights came on, the picture page plastic was examined from the side and lifted a bit to see if it was a fake. The picture was looked at extremely closely and in the end he looked at me and said: “wait here please one minute”.
Wifey, already through the Russian citizen’s line with Dima were waiting on the other side of passport control, bags already claimed, just plain got mad at the young feller. I got a little worried, thinking that this perhaps not the best way for her to behave right now and wanted to tell her to cool down a bit. But, again, I guess I have more to learn about Russians and their ways. She found his captain somehow, and they jawed in Russian for about five minutes. I still didn’t know what was going on, but figured it might be because I only had shown him the Dubai-Moscow ticket, Wifey had the return portion (from Ekaterinburg to Dubai), tucked safely away in her bag. So I asked her to show the guy the return ticket. She didn't understand me in her agitaed state so I made our never mind, it doesn't matter, don't worry, gesture as if I had control of the situation when in fact it was my wife's angry reaction that eventually saved me from interrrogation from immigration cops in the windowless room that the Arab family in from of me had been ushered into.
Next thing I know, as I was standing (over here for one minute) patiently taking it all in, the captain walks briskly and sternly over, opens the glass door to the young feller’s booth and says: “NA! Ni Che vo?!” (What is this?!). And the rest of what he said I didn’t really catch all of it but heard enough to know that he was saying this guy is her husband, they are a family, why are you treating him like a criminal, ease up a bit. Apparently there has been a wave of Canadian passport counterfeit attempts in Moscow over the past couple of months. Just my luck.
Anyways, once the chewing-out was over the young feller had another official quick look at my passport – to save a bit of dignity, I suppose - and gave it back to me. I said, in what I felt was a very sincere tone: “spaseeba balshoi” (A great big thank you). He answered: “pazhoulusteh” you’re welcome.
Every once in a while since we've been married my wife says to me: "nice to have a Russian wife, eh?" And here again was an instance in which I couldn't agree more. I imagined too what it might have been like for me if I had tried to fly into Sheryemetov Two say three years ago when I still single - my purpose being tourism. Knowing not a wit of Russian either, I don't think I wouda got too far.
I slept on the plane much more comfortably than I had expected. Dima dibbed the window seat, wife said she wanted the middle seat, so I got the aisle seat. We descended and I saw Russia for the first time in my life. We came from the desert; how green the forests look from 5000 feet! At 7:00 in the morning Moscow’s southern edge slipped under us: a patterned silk sheet of civic topography, morning-lit by the still horizon-bound, ochre sun. The unborn son kicked my wife in the belly from the inside and she said: "oh!"
The landing was like something out of an Alex Hailey novel. Nonetheless, the professional Aeroflot drivers got the plane down without too much worry – if you’re a normal passenger, that is, without an aircraft maintenance licence, a PPL, 20-hours towards a CPL, and 10-ODD years of “finding stuff out” in your back pocket. We all unfastened our seatbelts well before the sign went out and well before the aircraft came to a complete stop and there was nothing the flight attendants could do about it.
We roared along, in subtle, Rolls-Royce, high by-pass ratio, big-jet, fashion, up to the Sheremyetevo Two airport terminal and the gate #2 ramp/walkway thingy coupled itself to our aircraft door through some secret society of aircraft ground-handlers’ magic. Overhead racks were popped open hurriedly and they vomited forth luggage of regulated shape and size into the arms of their owners. And we waited, standing in between the seats, migration cards filled out and ready to hand to ultra-suspecting passport control officers. I have never seen such scrutiny of documents in my life.
We were the only passengers there because it was seven in the morning and the officers were taking their time. At least ten minutes per pax. After a good hour or so, I finally made it up to the window, feeling quite confident. I had an invitation from my mother-in-law to visit Russia and had gotten my visa previously and properly done in Dubai at the consulate. I smiled and handed the keen young officer my passport and waited as he scrutinised and scrutinised some more. Utraviolet lights came on, the picture page plastic was examined from the side and lifted a bit to see if it was a fake. The picture was looked at extremely closely and in the end he looked at me and said: “wait here please one minute”.
Wifey, already through the Russian citizen’s line with Dima were waiting on the other side of passport control, bags already claimed, just plain got mad at the young feller. I got a little worried, thinking that this perhaps not the best way for her to behave right now and wanted to tell her to cool down a bit. But, again, I guess I have more to learn about Russians and their ways. She found his captain somehow, and they jawed in Russian for about five minutes. I still didn’t know what was going on, but figured it might be because I only had shown him the Dubai-Moscow ticket, Wifey had the return portion (from Ekaterinburg to Dubai), tucked safely away in her bag. So I asked her to show the guy the return ticket. She didn't understand me in her agitaed state so I made our never mind, it doesn't matter, don't worry, gesture as if I had control of the situation when in fact it was my wife's angry reaction that eventually saved me from interrrogation from immigration cops in the windowless room that the Arab family in from of me had been ushered into.
Next thing I know, as I was standing (over here for one minute) patiently taking it all in, the captain walks briskly and sternly over, opens the glass door to the young feller’s booth and says: “NA! Ni Che vo?!” (What is this?!). And the rest of what he said I didn’t really catch all of it but heard enough to know that he was saying this guy is her husband, they are a family, why are you treating him like a criminal, ease up a bit. Apparently there has been a wave of Canadian passport counterfeit attempts in Moscow over the past couple of months. Just my luck.
Anyways, once the chewing-out was over the young feller had another official quick look at my passport – to save a bit of dignity, I suppose - and gave it back to me. I said, in what I felt was a very sincere tone: “spaseeba balshoi” (A great big thank you). He answered: “pazhoulusteh” you’re welcome.
Every once in a while since we've been married my wife says to me: "nice to have a Russian wife, eh?" And here again was an instance in which I couldn't agree more. I imagined too what it might have been like for me if I had tried to fly into Sheryemetov Two say three years ago when I still single - my purpose being tourism. Knowing not a wit of Russian either, I don't think I wouda got too far.
