Russian Life – Trip to Russia (with the dog)

From the Archives - 0940, January 16, 2006

Welcome to Europe

First leg of our winter trek to Mother Russia is complete; the three of us arrived in Frankfurt, Germany! We know all three of us arrived because we saw Chico’s pet cage going down the baggage loader. But I guess we can’t confirm that we all arrived alive yet, didn’t actually see Chico. Will have to wait till Russia.

Our arrival to Frankfurt was running late because of snow. As we taxied in it was coming down pretty good and then I thought about my jacket in the checked baggage – hope it arrives in Russia. For some reason this, the biggest airport in Germany, can’t ever seem to be able to park it’s planes at jet ways. So we faced the blowing snow in our face walking to the waiting bus. Now I knew winter in Europe is not the same as sunny south Texas.

With four hours to wait Irina’s first move was to the Duty Free shops for a “lettlee shooping”. After 8 hours of flying at the very, very end of the bus (we had the last seats on the plane, always the roughest ride and don’t totally recline). I was less than excited about wandering through all these high priced discount stores, but I dutifully followed. Finally she tired and I convinced her that we ought to set down a bit and get a little food and water. OK so luckily a guy was leaving his table just as we were walking up to “Goethe’s Bar” and snagged seats at a table. A lovely German girl, using perfect English, gave us a menu and we started perusing through it. I stated losing my appetite and thirst the deeper we got into the menu. “Lets see a small bottle of water – 7 Euros, a cup of coffee – 6 Euros, spaghetti – 12 Euros; YIKES!! WAIT, a large beer only 4 Euros, and even better yet a bratwurst for only 6 Euros.” That sounded great to me, a beer and hotdog for about $13, Irena can splurge and get the cup of coffee for another $8. I think we can get out of here for less than $25.” I didn’t really want a beer that early in the morning but my budget couldn’t afford the water.

As we were sitting enjoying our little lunch, Irena says “there’s a Russian”. Then a few minutes later the same thing “there’s a Russian”. After a while I am also able to pick them out and then I realize we were looking at the escalator right above gate 59, our gate to catch the plane to St Petersburg. But it is a little strange that these people that I am going to be living with for the next 6 months are so easy to pick out in a crowd. Is it their face, or their clothes, or their attitude, or the way they walk; no actually it is their big jackets. Just “Follow the Furs” to the Russian departure gate. So we soon head down to gate 59 looking strangely underdressed. I only had my little fleece on and every body else had full length, heavy, heavy looking jackets, mufflers, fur hats, boots. “UH OH – I sure hope the bag with my new Corpus Christi Burlington Discount Coat Factory jacket arrives. Otherwise I am going to be in deep trouble.”

Tooo late to worry, its time to board. Once again no jetway, just another cold bus ride to the waiting plane. “Oh well – at least we are not in the last row in the plane and the seats recline a bit. ON TO Russia.”



Touchdown 18:15, January 16, 2006
Welcome to Russia

From the window I can see the lights of St Petersburg and it looks like snow on the ground. Duh – its January and we are only stones throw below the Artic Circle. Good news/bad news:
Bad news first - Captain comes on and says we will be landing soon and the outside temperature is –27.
Good news – That’s only something like 8 below zero Farenheit, I think.
“My bag with my brand new, never before tested, Burlington Coat Factory Discount Store jacket sure as hell better show up or I am in deep, deep trouble.”

As we taxi in there is no snow falling – more good news. St Petersburg Airport hasn’t changed. In the summer it has a cold, old, sterile ambiance look. In the winter it is just cold, cold, cold – you are walking so fast to get your luggage and get the heck out of there you don’t have time to notice any other amenities. So we scramble as fast as we can to get to the front of the passport control line. Just as in HEB you pick the shortest line and as the saying goes “the first will be last, and the last will be first”. I pick the shortest line and end up waiting like 20 minutes as the guy in front of me gets grilled and then rejected.

So as he is standing back outside the “green line” I ask him what is the problem. “My passport picture doesn’t look like me” he says. “I have been here 5 times in the last year and this always happens”.

“UH OH” I think. That has happened to me too, but I was never sent back and told to wait. They always seemed to figure out that I really am the person on my passport even though I was about 15 pounds heaver, no mustache, no little goatee.

The cute young immigration girl in the next line over jokingly says “Elvis” as the guy she was checking had an Elvis Presley looking haircut and she sends him right on through.

“Just my luck” I thought “I not only get the slowest line I also get the line with the “Inspector from Hell” and I don’t even have my new Burlington Coat Factory Discount Store jacket with me”. So with trepidation I walk up to the window, look up and sure enough – this gal is one tough looking inspector, no smile, just serious business. A holdover from the cold war I suspect. But surprise. I get quickly approved and we are on the way to the baggage claim.

Unknown to me Igor, the son-in-law had already corrupted the baggage handlers for us. As we wheeled up our two baggage carriers to handle the 4 checked bags at about 55-60 pounds each, plus dog cage, plus the dog door blocker, plus 4 carry on bags, these guys in orange overalls come from baggage area with our dog cage and one of our bags, not the bag with my Burlington Coat Factory Discount Store jacket however. Irena rushes up and sure enough Chico is in the dog cage and is alive! She immediately lets him out and Chico immediately starts jumping and peeing all over the baggage area. A little jump here and a little pee here, another jump and another pee, another jump and another pee. Things were getting a little saturated, but then he had been in his dog cage from 1530 the day before and not wanting to spoil his house hadn’t relieved himself. Everything settles down, Chico is happy, Irena is happy and I am cautiously happy waiting for my jacket. In a few minutes the old babushka looking cleaning ladies show up and move into action with their mops, brooms, scoopers, look over at us and scowl.

So finally Chico settles down and we realize none of the other luggage has showed up. In fact no luggage has showed up and we had been there a good 20 minutes. Our corrupted baggage handlers show back up and tell us there “is a small problem – not too worry. The luggage is here, but the container is frozen shut and we can’t get it open.” I am thinking “OK, here we are not too far south of the North Pole, middle of winter, and they have a problem opening baggage containers, wouldn’t you expect this type of problem and be prepared if you lived here?” But no, all of the people start getting a bit agitated, once again you can tell the Russians, because they are the most vocal about their agitation. Since we knew what was happening I thought it would be and easy thing to just make an announcement about the delay. Irena went over to some women that seemed to have some kind of official function with the airport and asked them if they could tell everyone what was going on. The answer of course was “NET”. Something like that would take an order from the “top” and they weren’t about to do anything without instructions. Just sit and wait, at least we knew the problem.

About an hour after landing our luggage is all finally in our hands!! I open the bag with my new Burlington Coat Factory Discount Store jacket, put it on and walk confidently, bravely out the door to meet Igor and his father Valodia. Soon as I pass the threshold I get blasted with the cold air and the wind. Even though I didn’t have my handy REI zipper attachable mini-thermometer with the Windchill calculator on the back, I knew it was probably about –40. My face and hands immediately went to the frostbite mode!! Quickly we loaded the bags and got into the cars.

I decided to ride with Valodia since he had Chico and I thought Chico might need some friendly voice from the front. Valodia, Igors father is a big, burly rough looking Ukrainen who speaks no English, but since we spent the weekend at his datcha last summer we got along OK. We were a little slow getting the car turned around and when we got to the exit gate there seemed to be a bit of a problem with paying and raising the gate. I didn’t know what was going on, but it appeared that Valodia didn’t have his ticket and they wanted more money than he had. I offered my $20 American, but he waved his hands and said “Net”. So finally he digs into this secret compartment of his billfold and comes up with the cash. Of course everyone behind us was getting upset and honking. But he just casually climbs back into the car and we start heading home.

Normally it takes about an hour from the airport to Irena’s apartment, but this was rush hour so I knew it would take longer. Chico and I just settled back and relaxed. Well after about 10 minutes in bumper to bumper traffic I notice that the head lights don’t seem to be on. I of course don’t know the Russian word for “light” so I start thinking up and saying words like “Net lumina” – no that must be latin; “Net lictha” – no that is German. Couldn’t think of any other words, tried a little sing language with no success so just sat there, enduring the dark and increasing cold . I am starting to get colder and colder. Then I realize “The heater in the car doesn’t work!!!” Twenty minutes later he figures out that the lights weren’t on as we headed down a dark street and switches them on. But doesn’t seem to notice that the heater isn’t working. Maybe it is working and that is as warm as it gets.

Valodia prouldly bought his new Russian Lada last summer. Igor had pleaded with him to buy some other foreign car, but Valodia was a patriotic Russian-Ukrainian and only a home grown Russian car would be good enough for him. A Lada, the car of choice for every old Soviet party lower-level boss, was of course his choice also. But the Russkie bosses all got the big tanksize Lada’s and we were in this little match box weaving in and out of rush hour traffic. That is when we were actually moving faster than 2 kpm because of traffic jams. It was a cold, long, 2 hour ride, on top of which I really needed to make a head call during the last hour, but finally I recognized some old neighborhood landmarks and knew we would be there soon. Sure enough we pull up to Irena’s apartment and realized that I don’t remember how to get in. It’s dark outside I punch a couple of numbers on the security pad but nothing works. I yell, but no one hears. Valodia uses his cell phone and calls, Igor shows up. Of course they immediately get into a minor disagreement about the parking fee and I, wanting to get into a little warmth, carry my bags and Chico up to the apartment.

Just like “Old Home Days”; Vicky, Mamula, Irena are all in the dining room with a big spread of Russian food laid out. We eat, talk, laugh and finally every one leaves and I assume a horizontal position on the bed and am immediately asleep. It was a long trip, but we made it.