I titled this post Extremes. I probably cursed myself in doing that. At the time, the only extremes I was writing about were small things like flying from snowy Vladivostok to mild Phoenix and how Douglas and I had to get my baggage up a steep, ice-covered hill to the awaiting taxi. Our feet could get no purchase, so he left me at the bottom of the hill to let the driver know we were coming. When he came back down to help me, walking gingerly, arms out at the ready, he looked like a baby penguin. (Do you ever love someone extra when they're not at their best?) I yelled to Douglas how cute he looked. He either didn't hear me, of didn't feel cute and, thus, ignored me. There were some flight issues, like Aeroflot telling me that I not only wasn't allowed to have a second checked bag, but that they didn't show it in their system even though I held my claim tag and receipt. Not to risk boredom during the lengthy layovers, I left my passport and boarding pass in one of the many bathrooms in the Incheon airport in Seoul 20 minutes before boarding. Fellow travelers, like the guy who sat beside me in full-blown man spread, eating with his elbows out like it was Black Friday at the Old Country Buffet always kept things interesting.
Anyway, I was busy in Phoenix and didn't spend much time on my blog, and, as time passed, the extremes got a little more extreme and I put off posting to include them. For example, I was unable to fly back the same route I flew to Phoenix (Seoul, Seattle, Phoenix). Russia was not accepting flights from the Asian countries. I had to fly through New York, Paris and Moscow into Vlad with two five-hour layovers. Every low point, however, was met with a high of some sort. For instance, I found the bathroom in Seoul where I'd left my passport and boarding pass and they were still there. I was so sweaty and red-faced by the time I boarded, they pulled me aside for an extra screening. I then had the entire row to myself for the flight to Seattle.
Heading out of Phoenix, I had the police called on me for the first time. The Yellow Cab driver, who was to collect me at 3:30 called me at 3:20. "I'm close." He said. "Be ready." I said goodbye to my mother, lugged my baggage to the bottom of the driveway and waited. And waited. He finally showed up at 3:55. I was livid. He didn't care. "You have plenty of time." He said. "What time's your flight?" Right. Plenty of time. Anyway, when I got the the airport, I thrust half his fare into his hand, grabbed my baggage and left him. He chased me through the airport saying "This is wrong, this is wrong." I agreed, told him I was busy and ignored him. As I was checking in, I saw three police officers standing off to the side. "I think they're waiting for me." I told the woman who was helping me. They soon surrounded me. End of story: I had to pay him or get arrested. To not pay would have been "breach of contract." Never mind that he breached contract by leaving me standing for a half hour in the middle of the night. The high following that ordeal was I was able to upgrade to Comfort Class for a mere $79 on that flight. I drank Mimosas.
When I arrived to Vladivostok, I was surprised to see not Douglas, but our Consul General waiting for me. I told him I'd planned on kissing the man who met me. He told me that even if Douglas were there, I wouldn't want to kiss him.
Uh-oh.
Douglas was in quarantine having had a fever. Alice, our Regional Security Officer, was next door also in quarantine having worked with Douglas. I was put into quarantine next door to Alice for two days just to be on the safe side. When I arrived to the townhouses, I stood outside under our front window and was able to talk with Douglas Romeo and Juliet style.
After our quarantine ended, we found out that we'd be evacuated to Moscow where the health care was higher quality and there were more flight options. Douglas disappeared into the Consulate for long days as they suspended operations in Vladivostok. He only emerged to come home to feed and sleep. I pulled out the bags I'd just unpacked and repacked them. We'd be allowed two checked bags and our carry-on. Douglas and I decided to pay for a third checked bag. It's funny. While I was deciding what to bring with me, I looked at my piano. Knowing it couldn't go, I panicked. How will I ever learn the Chopin Nocturne? I pulled out the music and sat to practicing, as though I could learn it in the few days I had before evacuating. I was given Scrivener (a word processing program for writers) for Christmas. I had barely begun the tutorial in the three or so months I'd had it, but, suddenly, knowing I might not have that computer with me, I sat to learning it. Mercifully, we were allowed to pack an additional 300 or so pounds of unaccompanied baggage since we didn't know whether we'd be in Moscow for weeks or months. (I got to bring my computer. And some piano music, just in case.)
As I close this post, we've been here a week. We got to meet the Ambassador. I found a piano that's out of tune, but playable. There is a pub in the compound that has a pool table, and I seem to be the only one interested in it. Nice.
It's odd not knowing how long we'll be here. As I've written before, in our greatest limitations, we find our greatest freedoms. Without the thrice-weekly choir rehearsals and four weekly Russian classes, my mind is free to write. I hope you, as well as I, will benefit from it.
