On the power of persuasion − 13 August, 2006 - 14 August, 2006

Olga told me not to fly on the 13th. I also had reservations about that, but really had little choice in the matter. With tickets already in hand, I strolled through the streets of Moscow, buying Russian books and DVDs that were not available in the States.

A night before, by some weird twist of fate, I sat down at a dinner table with a few friends and was drawn into a conversation about uncomfortable, but not life-threatening, airplane incidents. For example, there was a story of an emergency landing somewhere in Canada, a story about one of the engines going out in mid-air ("How did you know the engine went out?" "Hmmm... Simple, the blades just stopped rotating..."), a story about everyone being off-loaded before the plane took off, because it didn't pass some security review, etc.

Moscow makes one stay up till three or four in the morning, especially on Saturday nights. So when the taxi picked me up at eight, I was exhasted. It took about half-an-hour to get to Sheremetevo and another twenty minutes to go through the registration, customs, and passport control. Faces flashing, clouds of smoke, Russian militia in their ill-tailored grey uniforms...

The plane to Munich was departing at 10:35am. I plummeted into my window seat and fell asleep almost immediately, to my own surprise and despite a pair of two-year old twins in the middle and the aisle seats next to me.

When I awoke the plane has already landed. I felt as refreshed as one could have. Moscow is not the grassiest city in the world and spots of green outside the window added to the smile on my face. This was the first time I slept through the whole flight. Two and a half hours of complete detachment.

People were getting out of the plane and, still half asleep, I followed suit. As I smelled the fresh Munich air, I felt strangely liberated. The trip to Moscow was blissful, but still it was nice to be back in the West.

I got into the bus that was taking us to the terminal and thought about Russia and the West, really seeing no particular reason for the feeling of perceived freedom which had overcome me. I then noticed a uniformed customs officer just outside the bus and a second later realized that his uniform was Russian.

Lazily, almost in slow motion, I turned my head to the right and saw "Sheremetevo" in large red letters. The plane was still in Moscow. I looked at the time on my cell phone -- I had only slept for an hour. I was no longer refreshed...

In the evening of that day, I finally reached Munich. Aeroflot put me in a nice hotel and bought me dinner. I thought to myself that Russia had truly changed, even if remained the same in some respects.