I'm not nervous, I'm not nervous. Unsure? Yes. But mentally, I'm fine. However, my brain hasn't told the rest of my body that everything is ok. My palms are sweaty, my mouth is dry, and I no matter how much Immodium I cram into my system, I just can't shake the nausea that has been bothering me since yesterday. Perhaps it's due in part to the vitamin C that I've been taking in an attempt to ward off the inevitable cold that always seems to strike me down within days of my arrival whenever I fly. I attribute this completely to the perpetually sick old people who should be coated in Purell before being allowed to board. Or perhaps I should coat myself in Purell. I can't decide. But alas, I've digressed.
So here I sit, in concourse E of the Hotlanta (sorry) airport. Concourse E is the last concourse in the busiest airport in the US. To access it requires one to navigate through a maze of moving sidewalks, half finished hallways, escalators, and of course the worst: slow people. There was probably some sort of express train I have a feeling I missed....
From what I can tell so far, I am one of two Americans at my gate. The other being a man in his mid forties who is dressed in an outfit that screams "I'm an obnoxious idiot and possibly a pedophile." This ensemble consists of a pair of faux-croc Sketchers, paired beautifully with an oversized coat that looks like it was patched together from cured human skin, interspersed with patches of fox fur. At present our hero is trying to convince a beautiful young Russian girl and her mother that the former would be perfect for the circus, or ice skating. He is also regaling her with tales of a model he discovered who could put her leg behind her head. He is posed with one leg on a chair so that his package is perfectly placed directly in front of this poor girl's head.
It is rather strange to be going through the same procedures and walking the same hallways as I did when I first flew to Russia a year ago. Only this time I am completely alone, and I have a feeling the loneliness will start to get to me in a few days. I will be shacked up with my friend Benjy's uncle for a week in a great apartment on Starii Arbat, one of the nicest streets in Moscow. I'd almost rather stay in a hostel however because it provides me with the opportunity to meet people. I said almost. I'm guessing the novelty would wear off and I'd become annoyed with the communal lifestyle. I'm unfortunately not a true Soviet.
I am trying to blend in as much as I can with the Russians around me, but Delta has already foiled my plan by asking anyone who doesn't hold a Russian passport to come check in at the desk. Bummer. Anywho, this is my last post before I arrive in Moscow. I hope all goes well. I have already planned exactly what I am going to do first, which is to find a shashlik stand and some Moya Semya juice. I heard they have pear, which I'm interested to try. Then it's off to that supermarket that is lodged in an old mansion. They sell $6,000 bottles of booze. My bottle of booze will be considerably cheaper.
Well it's time for me to board, so I will see you in Moscow my dear reader(s?). До России, давай.
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