Teaing like Russians

May 30, 2017 I felt wild joy when I landed in Moscow. Granted, Katya had told me that she would be waiting for me with Lenten pirozhki, so I assumed it was Wednesday and stoically refrained from snack and breakfast on the plane. Only when we sat down to eat buckwheat around 3pm, did we realize  it was actually Tuesday. On Monday, a hurricane had torn through Moscow, tragically killing 16 people. Tuesday was the first velvety spring day in a long while, and the felled trees made Moscow green, fresh and solitary, like a village; it's as though the forest is taking over its own.  This is two stops away from the Kremlin: But thankfully, workers were hard at work clearing up the debris. ( Can you see him? )

I stepped unto Mother Russia while the Delta Boeing was still firm on NY soil. When I came to my seat, a lady in rimmed square glasses and with scarlet nails full of sparkles was rummaging in her four bags which occupied both our seats. When I motioned towards the seats, “I’m not ready yet,” she told me calmly and then plunked into my cherished window seat. I watched dumbfounded as she snapped the belt over her ample tummy. “Excuse me, but that’s my seat by the window,” I tell her. “Oh really?” she asked without any convincing surprise in her voice “I guess my husband made a mistake when booking my seat.” As I stand looking with a silly weak smile, she budges, but very unwillingly. “Do you get sick in the corridor seats?" I ask. “No, it’s just my size,” she motions towards her generous front, “so I prefer to have more….leg(?) room.” Need I say I relented. Hours later, I found myself sleeping like a baby on her trampoline shoulder. [BTW, Russians think telling you that you ar