A trip to the Don River, part 1

Before I get into our trip down south, a few words about Vnukovo, the Moscow region’s oft-overlooked third airport. It is neither as infuriartingly inept as Sheremetyevo nor as nearly western as Domodedovo. The domestic terminal is a small Soviet holdover, impossibly plain and simple, with the same dull stone interiors you see in every building from the Soviet period. The proportions are graceless and bulky, and I learned recently are the result of some seriously kooky architectural thinking. Right-thinking Soviet architects apparently convinced themselves that such mathematically proportionate designs, devoid of any human elements, is a continuation of some lost thread in design from ancient Egypt. It is supposed to fill you with a sense of timeless awe. In reality, it makes you feel you are lost in the ruins of a tomb built by tasteless space aliens.

But we’ll give credit where it is due: it is a fantastic place to have to wait if you are a mother with a small child. After we checked in Mila got hungry, as expected, and Olga planned to decamp to the nursing station for awhile. Throughout America, every mother knows that public spaces for nursing never amount to more than a natty armchair in a public bathroom. Not at Vnukovo. After checking in with the first aid station so the nurse could certify Mila did not have chicken pox (we were given a formal little receipt with an official stamp to bring back with us), Olga and Mila were treated to a multi-room suite, with cheerful painted walls, lots of windows and sunlight, a few bathrooms (with showers!), a kitchen, a sleeping area with little cots, and a big playroom full of toys. The coup de grace, however, were the tiny, fully functional toilets with little bows for kids to use.

Unfortunately, fathers were not allowed, so while Mila and Olga had a sensible lunch, I had to wait outside in the terminal hall. I still notice in Russia things that you just never see in the States. For example, I looked over the balcony and happened to see some men’s sports team from North Korea in line at the check in counter, all decked out in Fila sports gear. I do not know what sport they play – but one that involves emaciated men with hollow eyes.

The flight was alright, we arrived safe and sound in Rostov-on-Don. On departing and arriving, they still had that retro way of getting on and off the plane, by going out on the tarmac and climbing up and down the ramp. It is nice when the first thing you see when you walk out of the plane is the warm air, golden sunset, and the smell of shashlik in the air (I’m not the only person who noticed this, by the way). This was a particularly poignant note, as it was the Fourth of July and my heart was longing to grill up some meat products and hang out on the porch for awhile.