Grey Airport, Red City

At nine PM we sat in the lounge at the grey airport in Moscow, had white wine with a funky flavour from a green bottle and waited for the boarding to open.

I woke up around eight AM and went for last arrangements, last check from my job and take away coffee and croissants, last packagings and disconnections, and then came back home, where we ate silently. Last shower at home and my family has already arrived to take us to the airport, mom is driving and dad is navigating. At the airport everything went by smoothly, the backpacks are sent straight to Bangkok and the lines are not long. My dad found on the marble floor a tiny doll that somebody dropped, a blonde plastic woman waving goodbye, and since then it’s left in the bottom of my bag for luck. Goodbyes, hugs and Duty Free. While we had the too-expensive coffee and waited, I looked at the people – A couple our age sat next to us and seems like they are used to flying, a young guy with a nose ring who spoke in the phone, people with suits and dresses. Am I the only one who is that excited?

I was a bit nervous when we went on the plane, for the first time in almost ten years. As I imagined for the last few months, we held hands during the departure. Everything stayed back down, the white city and the blue sea, together with my fears and worries. On the seat next to us sat a bright-haired woman with a grey shirt that seemed impatient, and I could not take my eyes of the clouds-city outside. After about four hours the plane began descending and Moscow was spread in front of us; beautiful, enormous, sparkly. The big red sun was setting above the city and dyed everything, and eventually we descended into the monstrous airport.

It is unclear what time it is, it is unclear that we are not in Israel anymore. The people around us seemed cold and bitter, a man with an oragne beard, a blonde woman with a pink suit and a ,matching bag. They are serving animal’s tounges and pickled fish in the restaurant and a solemn man is working in the flamboyant souvenirs shop. We don’t know what language to speak and how do we pay, and the feeling of strangeness and loneliness begin to seep.

The sun have already set when the boarding finally opens, and will rise again when we’ll get to the destination.


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