Friday, June 28, 2013

находиться or Limbo in Moscow Aeroport

Edward Snowden fled the USA with the NSA on his tail for informing the Guardian newspaper that the clandestine agency was illegally spying on millions upon million of American citizens. This breach of constitutional rights by the government was greeted with yawns and 'so whats' by the dazed public, however the Obama administration sought to extradite the former CIA employee from China. Mr. Snowdon left Hong Kong for Moscow, hoping to catch a flight to Ecuador. The White House has threatened the South American democracy with onerous sanctions, if the fugitive is permitted to enter that nation, and revoked the young man's passport.

The man without a country has been stuck at Moscow aeroport most of this week without any indication from the Russian authorities as to a departure date or destination.

His father has asked his son to return.

Don't do it, dude.

As Don Corleone told his son in THE GODFATHER, "When they come for you, it will be someone close."

Or something like that.

Then again his son doesn't want to stay in Russia.

Those motherfuckers play tough and limbo can become hell.

Of course there's nothing wrong with living in an airport.

Tom Hanks' character in THE TERMINAL seems to have thrived at JFK, but I got stuck at the old Moscow in 1994 during an Aeroflot from Kuala Lumpur to Karachi to Dubai to Moscow. My final stop was Paris.

The flight to Moscow took about 24 hours.

None of them on the 350-seater Ilyushin Il-86 were comfortable. The seats were back-breakers, the air-conditioning produced a thick fog, the food service was cut to starvation rations, and the flight crew disappeared after each take-off.

On the Dubai stop a young Norwegian couple and I bought wine and food for the next leg.

The stewardesses ignored us and every other passenger.

Ten hours later I disembarked at Moscow to discover my connecting flight to Charles De Gaulle had been cancelled and another plane wasn't taking off until the next morning.

The two Norwegians were in a similar predicament.

It was only 10PM but nothing was open and there was no place to sleep, however the Norwegians had two bottles of wine. I had two as well. We drank them within two hours, then wandered the terminal for more alcohol. Stateless transients were huddled in makeshift cardboard villages and one Afghani sold us a bottle of homemade vodka. The liter took a long time to drink. Several Russians joined us. They had their own brew. It burnt a hole in my stomach. I started to think that I would be there forever, however the long drinking session ended with the announcement of the imminent departure of the Moscow-Paris flight.

The Norwegians carried me to the plane. I was in no condition to be near heavy equipment and bounced down the aisle. Every passenger prayed that I wouldn’t sit next to them. I found an empty row and passed out within seconds of clicking shut my seatbelt.

Several hours later at Charles De Gaulle I woke up still drunk but happy to have escape from Moscow Airport. =

We’re starting to have a relationship.

Man and airport.

I'm sure that Mr. Snowdon is feeling the same way.

Hung over in limbo.

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