Okay, first, I saw the most amazing woman ever on my flight. Problem was, she was the flight attendant. Forget 10-minute crush, I was in dream for over an hour. I think she is German (I cannot find the apostrophe on this keyboard by the way). She had fine, golden hair that was pulled back in a pony-tail. The most attractive thing about her was her smile and happy demeanor. Everything about that smile felt so genuine. She had dimples, too. Oh my God. After a half hour of staring at her, she had already been introduced to my mother and I was trying to figure out what kind of wedding band we should have. Seriously. I was under her spell and she had no clue. I am sure she noticed me smiling like a complete idiot right back at her as she handed me sandwiches and water. Even when I left the plane, I could not help but to smile at her and take one last drink of her warmth.
So that was the flight. Then I got to DME airport in Russia. As soon as I got my bag and headed out of customs, a taxi driver followed me around trying to convince me that I should take his ride. There are signs all over the airport that say that you should not take private taxis. I had planned to take the train anyhow. The plan was, shoot over to the hostel, check in, and try to meet the director of a film at the festival so I could catch a movie.
I just missed the train though and had to wait an hour for the next. It is wild navigating around Russia with all of the Cyrillic writing. Outside of the airport, the Roman alphabet pretty much disappears. Fortunately, a woman at the taxi counter kind of mapped out my metro trip for me. I hopped a few trains before arriving to what I thought was the statue of Gogol that is near my hostel. I walked around for over an hour, clueless to where the street was that I was looking for. Everyone I asked was clueless as well. A taxi driver pointed in one direction so I proceeded to head that way, asking people over and over if they knew where, Maly Afanasyevskiy was. At last, three hours after I landed, I found it. Turns out, I had the wrong metro exit. Why I did not look to see if the statue I first saw was Gogol, I do not know.
Shirt drenched in sweat, I checked into the HM Hostel and laid down my stuff. I sprinted down the street to try to catch Mr. Farhadhi but I was an hour late. I hung around the theater for a few hours, hoping to catch him on the way out but no luck. I did do loads of people watching on the Novy Arbat. What I have decided is that Moscow has the highest concentration of pretty girls of any city I have visited. I am going to wash up and sleep now. Tomorrow, I will try to see Red Square. Oh, and find an English menu somewhere.