Possible Wizard Battle in Moscow

Everyone seems to associate Moscow with snow. Well I'm here to tell you that there is a monsoon season here, notable enough to contend for fiercest weather of the year. This means a few things to me:
First, I should not have left my galoshes, windbreaker and trench coat in Germany.
Second, I am now going to have to buy appropriate rain gear.
I have mixed feelings about rain. I actually love a good warm, summer rain. I love getting caught in it. Just maybe not when I'm on my way to meet a client. The drowned rat look isn't the greatest first impression. And leaving the appointment with a children's umbrella donated to your pitiful situation doesn't exactly leave the most positive lasting impression either. As for remaining indoors, nothing beats falling asleep to the sound of rain on the roof. And in this case, it doesn't matter that I don't live on the top floor, the wind is so fierce that the rain hits my windows straight on. I also love thunder and lightning. You know, when you're sitting at the computer with only the sound of the keyboard, the gentle fuzz of constant rainfall, and occasional singing to yourself, and suddenly it sounds like the earth just snapped in half and you find that your whole body has seized up. Your breath catches and then releases in words of surprise expelling themselves involuntarily from your mouth. Then everything lights up for a split second and you think, "It's probably a good time to not use any appliances which must be plugged in." And a car alarm goes off outside. Um... did what I think just happen really just happen? The only other explanation is a wizard battle. Wizards apparating everywhere.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

There and Back Again: My Tale (Part Z)

Of COURSE they provided me with everything I'd need until my new flight. I checked in to the hotel and they asked if I wanted a wake up call. I thought to myself, "Wake up call? That's what the alarm feature of my phone is for," and politely turned down the offer. 11:30 dinner, nice hotel room. I slept in a bed. It was fantastic. In my bliss I suddenly woke and looked at my phone. Thirty-five minutes until my flight was leaving. Hit the panic button. I started to wonder how that happened. Then the morning's events came rushing back to me. They went something like this:
1.*Alarm noise*
2. Turn off all THREE alarms which I had set.
3. "Hm. I fell asleep with this lamp on"
4. Turn off lamp.
5. Say out loud to myself "I love hotels."
6. Flop back down onto fantastic pillows.
Blast. I should have taken them up on that wake up call. It looked like I'd be paying for a rescheduled flight after all. But for some reason I decided to give it the old college try and hope that I could swing by on a miracle. I frantically threw my things all helter-skelter back into my bags and ran to the elevator. I think the receptionist could see the desperation on my face and I practically threw my key into her hand and asked if there was anyway I would make the flight. She called over and I heard her say, "She's a lucky lady." My flight was delayed and a miracle had indeed been on the menu for me that morning. (Good thing too, because I slept through breakfast.) I had exactly 2 hours from the time I got up to the rescheduled time. But I was rather impressed with myself for waking up, getting dressed, packing, checking out, and getting to baggage check in 15 minutes. I got through no problem. Then my flight was delayed another hour... I finally got on the plane and we were off. Back to Moscow. I thought the adventure was over. Until I got to baggage claim. I waited for a while. Then the sign changed to say it was the last chance for the London flight baggage. Still no signs of my suitcase. I went over to the desk to inquire and the woman could only say "London." I hoped that was a question as to whether I had been on the London flight. But no. My other intuition telling me that "London" was in fact the location of my belongings was correct. I had to go to the lost and found office and fill out some paperwork to have my bag delivered the next day. Which it was. But I must say, London had quite the hard time letting go of me.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

There and Back Again: My Tale (Part Y)

Since I'm focusing on the journey itself here, let's skip to the trip back to good ol' Russia now. I flew from the US to London, a fact that I was quite thrilled about. I don't know how the overnight flight flew by so fast, considering how little of it was spent sleeping- or so I thought. I did watch Jack Reacher, though. Anyway, I arrived in London and embarked on the best layover ever. Twelve and a half hours in my favorite city. They really twisted my arm. I think the only downfall to the day was that I didn't have enough time to see everything and my exhaustion and sore feet were starting to hold me down a little by the end. After a fun-filled day I hopped on the Tube for the last time (this time around at least-I'll be back) and made my way back to Heathrow. I got through security and whatnot a little early so I sat around waiting for my phone to charge. A little girl, probably around 3 years old, strutted up to me and said, "'Scuse me!" Then she proceeded to chat away. After a little while she walked back to her mom, only to return a couple minutes later. She started running back and forth and came back one last time and said, "I'm sweaty." Shortly thereafter, she was summoned by her parents to head to their gate. She was a cheeky little thing.
Not too long thereafter, I made my way to my plane. Pre-boarding seemed to be taking forever and people seemed to be trickling up, so I thought maybe I just missed the memo. As I was making my way to the ticket-checker I passed a man on his phone who I heard say, "Yeah. Not many smiling faces..." and then something about Russians. Apparently my Moscow face has gotten too convincing. While I was in transit they announced that there was a problem with the plane and that everyone who had boarded was getting off the plane while we waited for another plane. A little while later they announced that they could not, in fact, get another plane and would be cancelling the flight. Blast I could have stayed in the city longer. Having never had a flight cancelled before I wasn't sure whether they would provide accommodation and transportation and so forth. I wondered if I was going to have to have another sleepover in the airport.

I didn't. But this story is too long already and it gets even better, so that's all I'm sayin' for now. Gosh, airports are exciting.

I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.

There and Back Again: My Tale (Part 1)

A wise old man once said to find joy in the journey. I must say that is a lesson I've been having to learn the hard way. I just returned from a journey to the exotic USA. It was the first time since coming to Europe. But I must say that the journeys there and back were just as exciting as my time there. I boarded my flight from Moscow to London and settled in for a long night. Eleven hours and I'm too cheap to pay for a hotel. Someday I'll have to be a responsible adult with children and whatnot and will have to find appropriate sleeping situations. But that is not this day. So I slept in the airport. Apparently in Heathrow you can't sleep just anywhere. They told me there was a lounge. They lied. It's not a lounge; but rather an area in one terminal where they can keep track of everyone. They cattle herd and head count all those who stay behind after official hours. So I fell asleep on a bench. I was awoken about an hour and a half later by someone yelling "Miss! Miss! This way!" We were all led to another part of the airport. A gate. I heard the airport personnel giving each other the number. I can't remember now but I think it was somewhere around 40. I heard them tell one man that we would be led back out to the waiting areas at 4:00 am. I read a little and drifted in and out of sleep lying across a few seats. Some people stayed up chatting. I wondered what time zone they were coming from. Or maybe going to. Some people watched the news. After a few rests I was cold and decided we'd be leaving soon anyway, so I sat up and tried to figure out what to do. A man walked over and sat down across from me. I had noticed him earlier and, from the back of his head, thought he was wearing an eye patch. With now a full look at his face, my suspicion was confirmed. An eye patch indeed. Peculiar. He had some food that he had sat down to eat. As I looked at what he was doing I noticed something spectacular: not only did he have a black eye patch, but he had a hook for a hand as well! I had enough tact-or maybe just not enough guts- to not take a picture, but, looking back, I wager that he must embrace it by now... Rats. I should have seized that day just a little tighter.  But if you think I'm kidding, think again. I would not joke about something as significant as being present at the same sleepover as a pirate.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.

Nothing Says May Day Quite Like...

Happy May Day! Apparently it's a big deal here, so I went to a festival-y thing yesterday. Unfortunately I didn't come until the end when most of the events were packing up. But there was some sort of hip-hop gymnastics thing that I don't know the name of. Three guys against three girls doing all sorts of fly-through-the-air flips of every variety. The guys won. It was pretty apparent. They deserved it. The girls would have been impressive on their own, but just didn't quite have it. After that we went over to the concert stage where some guy was rapping and everyone had their hands in the air. It was pretty fierce. Something about being in Russian makes everything just that much more entertaining. We continued, passed the monster trucks parked there (I'm pretty sure they were there purely for aesthetics and to take pictures with) and went to the skate park that had been set up. Half of it was occupied by... scooters. I don't know when scooters became an extreme sport. Maybe I'm old fashioned but there's something slightly less hard-core about a kid racing down a halfpipe on a scooter. On the other side of the park there were bikers though. Then there was the woman wearing flesh-colored leopard print leggings and having a photo session doing a handstand against a tree, perching on the edge of a fountain, etc. They started packing up the skate park and the powers-to-be wanted everyone out. Seriously. I'm talking armed cars. Russians don't fool around. We made some Russian friends... well, I don't know if I'd go that far... but they oogled at us for a while before working up the nerve to talk to the Americans. It started with just one and then one-by-one their little posse shifted over to us. As we left, we were told "You... good girls..." I'm not sure which sense of the word "good" he was implying, but that's probably for the best. We made our way toward the exit, passed a girl in an Eeyore track suit, and left. And to complete the experience, while ascending the bridge over the Moscow river there was a coke bottle filled with... well... not coke. What a party. Good thing I have now been properly instructed in First of May festivities.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.