My first misadventure was by far my worst. This post was originally only going to highlight the night I arrived in Kirov, but I will actually write about my entire experience flying. I am not an experienced flyer. The only time I had ever flown before coming to Kirov was going in a large group to an FFA convention in Kentucky last October. So saying flying to a foreign country alone was a daunting task is an understatement. I bought a Starbucks and waited for my plane and was already disappointed. My experiences with Starbucks are always on either end of the spectrum, either amazing or, in this case, burnt and nasty. But then the plane came and they upgraded my ticket and it was an amazing flight. I really love planes and flying. But then we landed in JFK. And oh man. I was in New York. I was thrilled beyond belief and the airport was amazing. But there was a catch. My terminal was in the other building. So after a couple minutes of wandering, I finally found the exit. I stepped out into the New York morning and imediatly started choking on the air. It was thick with smoke from the taxi drivers on break. In addition, it was dark outside and I was alone. To be honest, I was scared.
I found the correct terminal and did at least five or six double takes. No way this dump was the same airport as that other palace. But it was. And I had no idea where to go. I was starving though so I bought two dunkin' donuts and a cup of their black coffee. I was in line behind no joke, two GIANT men and their tiny old mom. They realized I was alone and kindly let me cut them so I could get out of line quickly. So I took my carry-on, my back pack, my hot coffee and my donut bag over to the wall so I could charge my phone. I took my chocolate donut with sprinkles out. If you know me, you know that other than a chocolate bismark, it's pretty much my favorite. (Note to self, add sprinkles to a chocolate bismark when I get back to the USA) And to my dismay, there was neither sprinkles nor chocolate on my donut. I would like to say I was dignified and mature, but I totally licked it off the paper bag like a child. I paid for icing!
Anyway, after a few hours a man who I can only describe as an urban cowboy came over and asked if he could sit down. I shrugged and moved my bag and after an awkward silence he asked if he could plug his phone in next to mine. I said sure and he asked if I had been to New York before. I said no, and I was from Oregon, so it was a big change. He told me that he was actually just leaving his family in Colorado. He said they were really close-minded and he didn't get along with them, so he was coming to New York to change his luck. I ended up helping him find a hostel to stay at and then we said our goodbyes. I went upstairs and found that my next flight line wasn't even open yet. The joys of a 9 hour lay-over, am I right? I found a nice little nook in a support beam by where my line would be and fell into a resting-but-still-awake state. That is, until a man stole a woman's purse and jumped between my nook and a garbage can to get away. Thankfully at that point it was late enough I could text a friend of mine to calm me down. I decided that contact with family and friends was necessary until I was safe in my host family's home for the sanity of us all.
After what felt like forever of shifting and drifting around the airport, there was finally only an hour left. I resettled in my nook after fully charging my phone in the doorway while I people watched. I skipped a song and in the time it took Pandora to load I heard a woman who sounded very distressed. I looked up and caught her eye. She asked to borrow my phone so she could call her boss and tell her that she would be late. I decided that she seemed like a good person and I could outrun her even if she tried to pull something, so I handed her my phone. She called her boss and returned my phone. I went back to listening to music until a few minutes later when she returned with a fabric dollar-store fan and a bottle of cheap perfume. She insisted that I choose one as her thanks for letting her use my phone. I chose the fan and it is still one of the most special things I have received so far. I don't know if that's weird, but whatever.
I eventually made it onto my plane. (For my local Rotarians who read my letter, I actually got this flight confused) I spent a long flight squished on a seat next to a rather large Russian man who kept trying to speak to me, with a small crying child across the aisle. She promptly threw up as soon as the plane took off. It was.. less, than wonderful. Then I arrived to the Moscow airport. That was an incredibly overwhelming experience. There were way more people and it was all incredibly different and I had to wait 12 hours and I cried and a man vomited in the middle of the airport. I'm not going to go into detail about that. To be honest, I still get some anxiety thinking about it. But thankfully, it was time to go. I got on a tiny 30-seater plane and flew towards Kirov.
I arrived at the Kirov airport incredibly tired after a long trip. So I was exhausted. The airport was dark and tiny. I had no idea where the luggage was, so I just awkwardly followed the other people. I ended up finding both of my bags and then I waited with the other people for my host family. At first I was only a little cold, but then the other people began to disappear, and there was no one looking for me. I figured they may be inside, so I walked into the dark building which had only one light on. I motioned to the guard to say that I wanted in, so they scanned my luggage and I sat there. I used my pocket phrase book to ask if they had a bathroom and they said that they didn’t. I sat in the airport scared, confused, and unable to call anyone, and really in need of a bathroom. I paced around the two lone rows of chairs and looked for wifi. When I finally got connected I called home. It turns out that my host brother never told my host parents when I would be arriving. An hour or two later, my mom had worked her magic and my host family was on their way. About then, an airport worker walked over and said “toolet” which, is Russian for toilet. In Russia, a room with a bath or shower is a bathroom, but if it only has a toilet, it is called a toilet, which is why they said that they didn’t have one. In the end, all was well and I slept like a rock.
I hoped you enjoyed reading the tale of my first misadventure. Thankfully, this experience has led me to be much calmer about when things don't go as planned here.
пока пока,
Piffy
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