Ostomy Memories in Moscow

In January, 2003, a friend with whom I’d once worked asked a big favor of me. I owed her, and therefore agreed, to travel to Moscow, Russia to make presentations, via an interpreter, at a couple of seminars. I hate travel. Add to that, living in Florida, the prospect of experiencing a Russian winter was a bit daunting. For starters, I would have to buy a jacket. I went, bringing two checked suitcases and one carry-on. When I got off the plane and arrived in customs, there was no one there. I looked about and, when I stood next to a pair of glass doors, they opened and, all of a sudden, I was in the crowded terminal in the Moscow airport. “Taksi? Taksi?” men kept asking me. Then I spotted my contact. “I have to go back and check through customs,” I told her. “I’ll hang on to your bag,” she offered, and took my carry-on from me. I returned to customs, now swarming with passengers and the officials running the show. Retrieving my other two suitcases, I got in line. Next to the very serious-looking blue uniformed woman doing the checking was a conveyor belt upon which each arriving passenger had to place their luggage to be run through security. An equally serious-looking fellow in a brown uniform monitored the luggage as it funneled through. I was third from the front of the line when it suddenly hit me: the customs declaration that I had signed on board claimed three items, but now I only had the two, since my contact was holding my carry-on out in the terminal. How do I explain that? I doubted these functionaries spoke English. I had visions of being packed off to the Gulag. I was pretty sure ostomy supplies would be non-existent. I got to the front of the line. The uniformed woman leveled me with a hard stare. I handed her my customs declaration. The line of suitcases was pushing along on the beltway at her back. She picked up her stamp. WHOMP, WHOMP. I was through. What I took to be a glaring discrepancy, they hadn’t even noticed. I had officially entered Moscow, if somewhat negligently, and escaped being packed off to Siberia for luggage fraud.

Hope the rest of the trip was as interesting.

Thanks, it was...especially seeing Tosca at the Bolshoi. 

Hello HenryM.

Another interesting memory for which I thank you. I too do not like travelling but have encouraged myself to do so in the past because the destinations have almost always been worthwhile. 

Best wishes

Bill