twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?"

Month: December 2009

  • united: the only way to not fly

    Can I get frequent flier miles for trips to the airport?
    Due to heavy snow the one hour drive to the airport took three hours this morning. One car came around a corner and did a full sideways skid. No one was actually physically injured; it's my mantra for the day.

    We were the first in line at the ticket counter, where we were told that United had booked our flights on Air France, but not provided ticket numbers. The Air France reservation desk clerk told me I needed to talk with United. "Isn't that easier for you to do?" I asked her. How can I call United from Moscow? I tried the only United desk in Moscow, the one at the other airport and the person there told me they don't speak English, in Russian, and hung up on me.

    I called Peter's front desk person, who was awesome, and got us scheduled on the next Air France flight. Which was cancelled. She dogged United for plan, what is this by now? Plan D, E or um, F? They put us on a flight from Moscow to Beijing, then Beijing to San Francisco. We went to get our boarding passes and the person there told me the flight was full. "I have to write this down," I said, and on my print-out of the other flights we've waited hours for in the airport and not gotten on, I pencilled: flight full.

    They've scheduled us on the same flight for tomorrow. Camille and I agree that it's too much and we don't even want to go anymore. Stefan wants to try one more time.

    I'd given the last of my cash to the guy who helped us with our bags, so I was ruble-less and needed to get back into town. And from this airport–Moscow's biggest, finest international airport–you can't pay for a taxi with a credit card. A friend drove an hour and a half in the dark, in the snow to rescue us. Add Dr. Larry Padget to the long line of rescue workers helping us this trip.

    When we lived in Niger, people would complain about the weather back home, I'd email them a photo of the Embassy thermometer showing 130F degrees. This winter when people say, "It's so cold here!" I've have played my, "It's -17F in Moscow!" card. Tomorrow I'm doing the art work for my worst travel story card, it's going to be in Chinese, it's going to have multiple baggage stickers from going through the xray so many times, and I'll show the total amount of money I've spent to not get out town, how on our second try in three days we spent ten hours fifteen minutes in transit, and ended up back to our apartment in Moscow. I'm so tired and we haven't even left yet. 

    As a group of people in warm-up suits got off one plane today, they were greeted by a crowd with flowers, banners, waving flags and a full-on marching band. That's what we deserve if we ever land in SF. If I don't physically injure anyone.

  • over the snow we go, hopefully

    Red_square_xmas_lennin

    "Heads up, winter storm warning," my friend writes me.  Why did we book holiday flights through the east coast? When you can fly direct to LA? Because it was going to be so good! I was going to get to visit with my friend Mary for hours. She had offered to take me home so I could take a shower before the flight to San Francisco, she would have made me her newly-invented drink. Washington is expected to get two feet of snow, when one inch of snow shuts them down? Maybe our flight will be delayed or diverted. Mary is wise and realizes she needs to stay put for the snowpocolaspe.

    At the airport, the flashing red words in Russian mean our flight has been cancelled. They tell us to come back tomorrow for the same flight, with no explanation. I'm so worried about how we are going to get back to the house, the driver has left, that I don't do the simple math: one plane, twice as many people, and we are now on stand-by. On a plane that may or may not be leaving. The phrase "declared a state of emergency" doesn't sound like a problem that will be solved tomorrow by noon.

    A long and expensive cab ride back home, we wheel our four suitcases back in the house.

    In the afternoon I decide to take the camera and go for a walk. I need stuff for dinner now, and Moscow is very pretty these days with clear skies and a Neiman-Marcus-Christmas-window-display sprinkle of fresh snow. I walk to Red Square. I had a blast taking pictures. I found a bakery I've been wondering about. I wandered through GUM and bought Stefan some fancy Russian chocolate powder. He's addicted to hot chocolate lately, and we just ran out of the Monbana chocolate powder he's acquired a taste for. We bought it on the way home from Lisbon at the Charles de Gaulle airport. 

    At Red Square there is some sort of event going on and you have to go around some railings to get in. Some Americans are confused and want to get into Red Square and the police are telling them they can't get in. The Americans are arguing. The police are not telling them they just need to go past the railed-off area. The Russians beat Napolean and the Germans, they are not going to start explaining things to Americans.

    I come out on the wrong side of GUM and now that it's dark can't figure out how to get to the street that takes me home. I ask someone where the Novy Arbat is, "It's very far," she tells me. This could mean two blocks, sometimes the Russians are funny about walking, or it could mean I'm going to freeze to death on the far side of the Kremlin. I'm wearing gloves and mittens and my fingers are so cold they hurt. I went in a metro to get oriented and ended up metro-ing home, it's warmer.  I thought I was going to one particular stop, but when I came up out of the metro, I was at different one. I have no idea how I ended up there, but I knew where I was, bought a kilo of mandarins and was back home. 

    Peter and Melissa spent hours on hold with United. The first flight available where we'd have actual seats is the 26th. Or I could go to the airport everyday–$120 round trip taxi ride–and try to fly stand-by, with four bags and two kids. My rescue-workers, Peter and Melissa, got us a flight tomorrow to Charles de Gaulle, a hotel room, and then the next day Paris to San Francisco. "Now we can buy more of that chocolate!" says Stefan.

    It's snowing in Moscow, but they won't shut down the airport here because of snow. They closed airports in France due to snow last week, and they are still getting snow, but it looks like the worse of it is over. Right now, I'm cozy in our house, not stuck in some hotel somewhere. I'm going to make crepes for the kids for breakfast. We'll be home for Christmas, eventually.

  • spaso house christmas party 09

    Xmas_ca_friendsXmas_amb_tableXmas_ambXmas_amb_singersAmb_xmasXmas_amb_camilleXmas_amb_stef

  • Day 02 →

    Your favorite movie. Way too hard. It's either Dr. Zhivago because every frame is so gorgeous or…Trading Places because if it's on, I have to watch it, Peter and I quote it to each other all the time, it's part of our collective consciousness.. "You have it." Can you answer this question, it's hard.

  • not watching the olympics from a russian jail

    American olympic athletes probably wear technically the best water and wind-proof gear in the world, but they don't dress all adorable walking in the opening ceremonies, which for me is what really counts. For that, the Russians–who are all about spectacle and costume–get the gold. They always have amazing looking outfits during the parade. I've discovered the clothing is not exclusive to the athletes, you can buy it at Bosco stores all over town, there is a store next door to us.

    Bosco_spectacle and costume
    Last winter they had this that looked like a vest a fashion forward Mongolian girl would wear, appliqued, with fur trim down the front and around the bottom, it was to die for. This season, there is a little jacket Camille wants, it's got Russia embroidered on the back, it's cute, it's fleece, it's $200. 

    "I heard you can buy it at Ismilavo cheap," Peter says. Ismilavo is the all-Russian outdoor market. I've been there a few times and I've never seen it there and as you can see, it's pretty distinctive.

    Today at Ismilavo, Peter finds a guy selling fur hats wearing an official coach's jacket and starts talking to him. The guy describes some jackets, and finally says, "Come out to my car and I'll show you what I have."

    His trunk is full of official Russian olympic gear, with the patches and the labels and the hangtags and the real fur and the scrumptious fabrics and everything. He shows us warm up suits and the men's ski parka. Not what I'm dying for. Then he pulls out a ladies fur-trimmed jacket similar to the one I was petting in the store, but not in my size. "I have something else," he says, and dives back into the trunk. 

    I can't wait for the olympics, I love them. This will be our first time being able to watch another country's broadcast. The event I'm mostly looking forward to? Who out-patriotics who, Russia vs the US. As the guy searches in his trunk, I'm picturing us all in matching Russian olympic team hats, cheering for both sides.

    Then the three of us notice a car has just pulled up and someone is getting out to talk to us. The police. They ask to see the guy's documents, and Peter and I walk away, back inside the market to be amid the matroushkas and painted trays. I don't often get to end my stories, "And then the cops came."

    As far as the olympic gear goes, I think I'll just wait until after Christmas, when Bosco has huge mark downs. Maybe we'll get something by February 12th to wear while watching the opening ceremonies. I'll be the one waving the guilt-free flag.