“Arrival in the world is really a departure and that, which we call departure, is only a return.”

― Dejan Stojanovic.

May 7th, 2023: After I finished packing, I ran through my checklist to ensure that I had done everything right. Now that the conditions have been met, let us begin. The sky were overcast, with occasional gusts of wind and drizzle. However, this did not reduce our enthusiasm and concern for our first vacation. I ate dinner at 19:30. It was 20:00 when Dad dropped us off at the bus stop. The bus arrived 10 minutes late for its scheduled departure time. He wanted to accompany us to KIAL airport, so we agreed that he would come and wave us off.

It took over two hours to reach the airport. There were just 7 people on the bus, and the ride went nicely. After saying farewell to Dad, Mom and I went through security at the airport gates. I looked for the AirArabia check-in counter and was told it will open at 00:30. I removed the neck pillow from my suitcase and slept in the waiting area till 1:00 a.m. The counter was open. We had just started moving our belongings to the counter when their outsourced staff (Celebi) began arranging. After 20 minutes, we were allowed to move to the counters (34-38). While transferring the luggage to the robotic conveyor, I noticed two males approaching us. After collecting our boarding cards, we had to proceed to the first floor for immigration examinations.

KIAL Airport had about ten immigration counters, each for “Indian Passport Holders,” “Foreign Passport Holders,” the “OCI/PIO counter,” and a station for G20 delegates. When our turn came, the immigration officer asked a few questions and immediately approved them. We have left India for the first time. The security check for bags was then completed successfully. It was 2:00 a.m. now. As I neared our departure gate (No. 38), I observed several duty-free shops. My credit card provided complimentary lounge access that could be used twice a year. However, I did not enter the lounge because I was quite tired and sleepy. I just wanted to rest somewhere.

Terminal 1, Kempegowda International Airport.

The seats at Gate 38 were filled, so we had to hunt for any available couches. Yes, we discovered one near Gate 40. I removed my shoes and fell asleep. Mom, meanwhile, was speaking with another female passenger on Emirates’ journey from Dubai to San Francisco. I overheard their chat, which ranged from “how easy was it to get a visa to Russia?” to “what will be my son’s future?” Meanwhile, numerous airlines released remarks regarding the final call, which was occasionally shrill and unpleasant. The majority of the announcements were made for passengers who did not board Lufthansa or Indigo aircraft to Frankfurt and Doha, respectively.

Mom awoke me. It was 3:30 a.m. After a little rest, we continued to gate 38, where there were some vacant seats. My attention turned to the two men standing behind us at the counter. The two wore long pyjamas, one brown and the other white. The other person carried a guitar. Mom and I sat down, and she, too, was astonished to see them. She told me to check at the Wiki page of a singer who happened to be a famous celebrity and see if it was him.

It was 4:00 p.m. when the announcement to board the flight to Sharjah was made. The AirArabia personnel congratulated both the well-known personality and the person who accompanied him. A long queue formed immediately. I felt odd after having our boarding credentials examined for the final time. The sky was pitch black. A line formed at the aircraft’s entry, and after a while, we both took our seats. The musician sat in the first row of the plane.

It was an Airbus A320. The Nawras, Air Arabia’s in-flight magazine, a vomiting paper bag, a leaflet outlining safety procedures, and an envelope for a charity funded by Sharjah’s Emir. Passengers maintained their decorum, and boarding proceeded fast. Almost all of them were Indians. The cabin staff demonstrated the safety protocols, and the aircraft was ready to depart. In-flight announcements were made in Arabic, English, and Hindi. I looked out the window and saw an Emirates airplane outside. Despite having later boarding and departure schedules than AirArabia, Emirates’ flight took off first. For which we had to wait almost 30 minutes. Another delay. It appears that AirArabia is being treated stepmotherly by its larger rival, Emirates.

Meanwhile, I finished reading the Nawras for the months of April to June. It provided travel information, advertising, a menu, and SkyLine entertainment services. SkyLine is a Wi-Fi-enabled infotainment service that connects users to a portal where they may watch movies, news, podcasts, and music. However, it did not operate in this aircraft, even when in flight. We took off at 04:30 hours, and as the jet soared above the monsoon clouds, the sky darkened before turning a brilliant blue. The sun’s rays penetrated the plane, resulting in a breathtaking picture. We got two seasonal fruit salads and had no problems. Obviously, the clouds had obstructed the view of the oceans below. I had dozed off by then.

I set my watch’s time to Arab Standard Time (one and a half hours behind). We looked at the Arabian Peninsula for the first time at 06:30. I geolocated our aircraft around Muscat. Deserts and mounds. Some of them are lined with white sand. As the voyage progressed, we became aware of the presence of humans. Roads, roundabouts, swimming pools, gardens, mosques, cramped flats, and palaces were all visible. The airplane landed at Sharjah International Airport about 07:20.

First time out of India! AirArabia’s main hubs are Sharjah, Abu Dhabi, and Ras al-Khaimah. Except for one Air India Express flight, the remaining planes outside the window belonged to Air Arabia. We were placed in shuttle vehicles. As I looked out, the airport was being refurbished, and a new structure was under construction. It came to a halt at a building, so we disembarked, mounted the escalator, and saw Sharjah Airport’s main terminal.

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Now it was time to find a flight to Moscow. The staff swiftly sent us in the right direction, and as we did so, we came across a big hall packed with duty-free shops, cafés, and advertisements promoting Sharjah as a tourist destination. I noticed a large number of Uzbek women walking in the same direction as us, all wearing white hijabs. We reached the security checkpoint. I entered the queue, only to be informed by a security official that the gate to Moscow would open at 10:30 a.m. The Uzbek women moved forward. Okay, we waited in the waiting area, surrounded by Russians. Mum had to use the restroom, and I was starring at them.

Some of them glanced at me in wonder. Some folks grinned. Several of the passengers were Russian families with children. Some were bachelors. Many people visited the UAE to purchase, carrying with them pricey, branded items that they couldn’t find in Russia. Passengers bound for Moscow were advised to begin the security check-in process, and when we presented our passports and visas to the security officer, he appeared bewildered before directing us to go. We took the elevator down because we had not checked two bags. We found a spot to relax, and I went to the restroom to brush my teeth.

Meanwhile, Mum had bought Arabica coffee for both of us and was drinking it. Yes, it’s hot and tasty. With the exception of one person, every other passenger in the waiting area was Russian. He was Indian and seemed excited when he saw us. There were announcements to board the flight. The staff stamped our boarding passes. Russians could scan their biometrically enabled passports, allowing them to proceed more quickly. Our passports were manually validated. One of the staff members asked, “Are you a student?”

We boarded the shuttle vehicle and headed for the Moscow-bound AirArabia flight. This flight will land at Domodedovo Airport. We quickly boarded the airplane. The lone Indian passenger was sitting next to us. He identified himself as Akshay and stated that he was a tourist. The cabin crew was Russian. It was the same Airbus A320. Unlike the last one, this plane departed on time. A recorded ‘fatiha’—the Muslim pre-travel prayer—was also played shortly before departure. There were various Quranic passages. In-flight announcements were made in Russian, Arabic, and English.

Looking out the window, I saw the Arabian Peninsula, and then we crossed the Persian Gulf into Iran. A country with abundance of deserts and little settlements. I calculated that the airplane would pass through Iran. Meanwhile, the other passengers dozed off or watched Russian films. On this flight, however, SkyTime worked properly. I reviewed the Russian phrases and essential words from this book, which I discussed in Part I. Mom, meanwhile, was reading the in-flight magazine.

Thus far, so good. Iran’s northern shore (which borders the Caspian Sea) was mountainous. (The Alborz) with some trees (Hyrcanian forests, which I’ve never seen!). I needed to go to the restroom. Turbulence began as soon as we crossed the Caspian Sea, and everyone had to wear seatbelts. I raced out of the toilet, accompanied by a frantic knock on the door, and took my seat.

The in-flight meals arrived. Mum and I had reserved the Indian dinners “vegetable biriani” and “dal makhani.” After finishing it, I listened to music on my phone while we flew over the sea. Because the trip was so long, some passengers stood up and talked to each other. Apparently, people are becoming impatient. One person was continually walking up and down the plane. Many Russians, I noted, brought their own pre-packaged food. They order a coke and a chocolate. It was 15:30. Land appeared beneath us. Finally, pastures and meadows appeared. I knew we had entered Russia. Then I set my watch back an hour to Moscow time.

The gradual descent started around 15:10 a.m. The plane arrived at Domodedovo Airport about 15:30. People cheered the pilot and crew when they safely landed. The airport appeared vacant as it began to land. Several aircraft, including the S7 and Ural Airlines, were ready to take off. The airplane came to a halt near the air bridge.

We unloaded our belongings and began to depart from the plane. It suddenly became cooler outside. I needed to wear my Adidas jacket. My fingers were feeling cold and almost numb. I had no idea what was going to happen next. Mom and I took the escalator upstairs. The signs read ‘Passport Control for Russia and Belarus passports’ and ‘Passport Control for Other Passports’. It was a vast hall with several unoccupied immigration counters. Some of them are closed, with flashing LED advertisements and posters directing tourists to present their passports to officers without jackets. Of course, no photos or films are allowed. Counters were set up for “Russian and Belarusian passport holders” and “other passports.”

I approached a counter where a Russian female immigration officer was seated. “Dobroye vecher!” I replied, using what little Russian I knew. Good day! I turned over my passport and boarding pass. She was astounded and began chatting in Russian. I couldn’t understand all she was saying. I realized I was simply a beginner in Russian, having learned about 0.1% of the language. Whatever “Russian” I learned from that book is not helping me understand the material. Mum went to a different counter than me, and the officer asked, “Govorit Pa-Angliskii?” (Do you speak English? Da, I said, and she led us back to a waiting area where an English-speaking immigration official would meet with us.

A male cop had arrived. He spoke English to some extent. We distributed passports and boarding passes. He asked for the invitation letter and the amount of money we had. He then asked for my return ticket, which I immediately showed him. “First time abroad?” . He took them and went somewhere. We waited. Both of us remained calm. Meanwhile, another border guard interrogated the Sri Lankan passenger. The Russian couple apparently couldn’t have their features matched to the photographs, which was their issue.

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Eventually, the same cop arrived. He instructed us to go to the immigration counters. We all went to one counter, and the Russian lady officer shouted, “One at a time, one at a time.” We took approximately ten minutes to split up, during which time the officer checked the photo and glanced at my face again. She was examining the visa again with a magnifying. After scanning my passport page, flight ticket, and visa, she gave me a migration card and told us not to lose it. My passport was stamped, and I’d officially entered Russia!

Mom also arrived, clearly relieved. We needed to get our checked-in bags and head to the airport’s main hall. It was getting colder than before. We took the luggage. We needed to look for a trolley. Unfortunately, no one helped us. Some personnel attempted to steer us in the wrong direction. I had to ask a cleaner, and she quickly snarled at me. Other passengers brought a cart with them. I asked a handful of them. Some answered in gibberish, while others did not respond at all. And I was speaking broken Russian. Sometimes I wondered if I was actually speaking Russian or if I was just kidding. So I had to use the airport’s Wi-Fi for communication. And, of course, I did not have enough time to take pictures.

We were both considering what to do next. A money exchange counter was located at the customs gate; however, it was vacant. Mum and I decided to dump the trolley and pass through the green customs gate with “Nothing to declare.” We entered the Domodedovo Airport Hall after the gates opened. We both lost our self-confidence and became mad. There were numerous SIM card counters at the arrival gates. This was our first mistake.

I had only been to one SIM card counter, Tele2. For a while, I assumed they were the only ones. The salesman spoke English and instructed us to hand over our phones. Without thinking, we gave. They implanted their SIM card and ordered us to pay 3,500 rubles for each SIM card (we took two) immediately. Because I was “delirious,” I simply handed him a 5,000 ruble note, and he returned the change. They informed me that the plan we purchased provided unlimited phone calls, SMS, and internet access while we were in Russia. Seriously? That was the worst decision we’d made. Mum started berating me for making this decision, and I yelled back, saying it was a community responsibility. We were both accountable. My “delirium” and “cortical blindness” were evaporated, and I observed ten additional SIM card counters.

The next stage was to get additional rubles, so Mom told me to convert part of the dollars. Where do I get it? A sign pointing upstairs directed people to a bank. A Sberbank. There was a small queue. The bank was located between the restrooms, SberBank ‘bankomats’, and Edim-Latum Restaurant. I only had cash. I came in and saw a cranky Russian employee, Irina, sitting inside. When she first looked at me, she grew outraged. By this point, I assumed I had lost any Russian I had learned and began conversing with her through the Translate mobile app.

She started shouting at me, and I got the following translation: “You think you’ll get the money just like that?” Where’s your passport? Mom was on the ground floor with the suitcases, so I promised to return soon. I dashed towards her, snatched the passport in despair, and returned to where there was another tiny queue. They looked at me as if I were an animal that had arrived in Russia. After those direct stares, I stepped inside. The lady asked me to give her my passport and cash (dollars). I had no idea how to give it. The box was extremely large, with two coverings on each side. I merely pulled the lid, and she started pulling it from her side. It resembled a tug of war. Then she screamed at me, “Put it inside!”—thanks to Translate.

I verified the exchange rates. Sberbank offered dollar purchase and selling rates; at the time, I selected 72 and 80, respectively. For the euro, it was 86 and 90, respectively. I discussed this with Dad on the phone, and he encouraged me to exchange the 200 euros we had. I spoke with her using the Translate app, and she returned my passport and dollars, causing me to dash off to get the euros. When I returned with the euros, she requested my migration card. I said, “Oh God!” Wait, madam; I’ll come back and fetch it. I had to go up and down the escalator five times. I asked my mother to accompany me upstairs. She worried about leaving her luggage behind. So, we both returned, received the letter, and the rubles. I said, “Mnogo spasibo!” and she motioned for me to leave.

When I left the bank, I felt like crying. No, I am a strong person at heart, and I didn’t want to look weak in front of everyone. Mom wasn’t pleased with the entire situation. My mind raced with ideas like “Why are they so cold-hearted?” We left the airport, and it was very cold outside. It was quite cold. Mom was shivering. There was a taxi stand. For the first time, I’ve observed that the warning and information signs are taller than those in my own country. Cars were speeding by, and I had a momentary thought, “Are we standing in front of a Hollywood movie in a theatre?” Many others smoked, and I couldn’t tolerate it.

Outside the Domodedovo Airport, Moscow.

The drivers pestered us to take their taxis to our destination. One of them said, “Salaam Aleikum! Hosgeldiniz.” Everyone spoke Russian except for one man, who greeted me in Turkish while wearing a Turkish-themed red shirt and headpiece. We were able to get there for only 1,050 rubles utilizing the YandexGo smartphone app. I asked them to travel to my location for the same cost. No way! They requested 2,000 rubles. I assumed they didn’t get it and scrawled it down on a piece of paper. They were giggling there. When I showed them what I’d drawn, they said 2,000 rubles. With the mistakes we made at the airport, I did not expect to lose another 1,000 rubles. Meanwhile, the YandexGo app didn’t function properly. The GPS wasn’t pointing properly. Mom advised me that it was getting late and that it would be prudent to pay the 2,000 rubles to the taxi driver. Meanwhile, the inquisitive and agitated drivers began to leave us.

I directed a driver stationed at a ticket booth to bring us to our destination. He asked for 2,000 rubles, and we accepted. Ali is Azeri. I attempted to communicate with him in my awful Russian. He was happy that we were trying to interact with him, and we talked about his family and our work in Russia. I asked him, “Is it possible to go to Red Square for Victory Day?” with the words “Krasnny Ploschad, Pobeda Dyena,” and he first agreed. I urged him to clarify, and he stated it was impossible to travel to Red Square to see Putin and the procession.

Ali, the driver in the first photo to the left. Rest of the pictures show the route as we drove to the apartments from airport.

Mom told me to stay quiet. We saw the highway that connects Domodedovo Airport to Moscow. Meanwhile, I checked my phone and discovered three missed calls from Daria, the first apartment manager (assistant). Communication with her was plainly in Russian. She asked if we were coming. I promptly answered her inquiries. Then I looked outside and noticed the beauty of nature. We entered the city, and I was surprised by how neatly the streets were structured. Every roadway had a zebra crossing with a timer so that people may cross. Buses, trams, and trolleybuses arrived at the scheduled stops. If you believed a bus stop was where a bus stopped in the middle of traffic and people alighted, you were mistaken. Even when there were no timers, cars showed consideration for pedestrians; each road had overhanging cables with precise markings signaling left, straight, and right, which every driver carefully followed. This was the organization. Advertising placeholders were inserted in precise spots.

The taxi had come to a stop. We were on Dokuchaev Pereulok (aka Dokuchaev Avenue). He said that our position could not be found using his GPS and that he needed to communicate with our landlord. I contacted her and gave him my cellphone. She tried to guide him with her words, but he would not listen. He sought help from passers-by and shops, but in vain. We kept circling many areas before returning to the square. We thanked him and paid him the 2,000 rubles, not wanting to inconvenience him any further. We proceeded to the ‘VOLGA’ apartment despite the bitter weather and luggage on the street.

We couldn’t open the door ourselves. I attempted to open it, but a man emerged, and I squeezed in as the door closed. The receptionist was surprised to see me and informed him of our needs. We needed to reach our lodgings as soon as possible. He stated that the Translate program suggested that we had entered through the incorrect entrance. We needed to use a separate entrance, “near the container.” I had no idea what this container was, so I called Daria again to ask him for further information. She didn’t pick up.

We went on to the next apartment after unceremoniously leaving the last one. Another call bell with a keypad for entering the code. I sent her the photographs, and she said I was in the wrong apartment. It was 18:30, and we were shivering. Speaking with the Russians made me feel vulnerable. I went to three other houses close and got the same reply. I left my mother at a street corner and went to a playground. By then, the landlady had shown us a picture of the entryway we were meant to use. I saw it immediately away. I was interested by this problem. We arrived at the ‘correct’ door and informed the receptionist, an older man. He growled and instructed, “Take the elevator to the eighth floor.” We took the elevator to the eighth floor. We were standing in front of the entrance to our room.

So, how can I get the key? My phone’s battery quickly discharged. The landlady ordered me to slide the key lock into a little box near the door. I will not reveal the code for obvious security reasons. After sliding the keys to the correct code, we attempted to unlock the door. It won’t open. We hammered on the door for almost five minutes. During our search for the key, we “heard” someone talking inside our room. How is that possible? Maybe I was delirious again. My mother discovered a small lever in the box that I had overlooked and turned it. Heck, she found the key concealed inside. We were able to enter our room. Relieved!

I was dehydrated and hungry. So was my mother. I called the manager (assistant) and asked in horrible Russian, “Komnati ah-plateet.” Pozhalyusta”. She chuckled and stated that she would be arriving in half an hour. My phone’s battery level has dropped to 5%. Mom needed to make some immediate purchases. We didn’t know which supermarkets. Mom went outside to buy them, and I stayed in the room to wait for her. I wasn’t sure what would happen to Mom because she had no idea what Russia was like or what food and commodities were available there. Meanwhile, I saved enough rubles to pay her. My thoughts raced, and my heart beat. Mom said she was terrified to leave me alone. I wasn’t as paranoid as my mom. After all, this is Russia, and much like my mother, I had no idea how things worked here. Recent conversations, as well as the prospect of seeing Daria, have made me feel more insecure. After 10 minutes, she returns, and I’m shocked to see that she purchased several products, including a 5-liter water container.

I was browsing the LG TV in the room. A cable network, indeed. There were about 20 channels, all in Russian. Rossiya 24, Rossiya 1, etc. Some radio channels followed the television networks. By then, she had arrived. A young lady. I greeted her while Mom was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how the stove worked. My heart is starting to beat faster. She only understood Russian, so I texted her (via WhatsApp) in her native language.

She answered our inquiries about how to use the washer, stove, and oven. Mum was anxious since she’d bought a 5-litre water container for the inverters and batteries. “Battery water?” she inquired. She laughed at what my mother said. We asked her if it was necessary to classify the garbage into dry and moist categories, but she couldn’t respond. She probably has never heard of rubbish segregation. She told us that we had to dispose of the trash on our own. She was humiliated by this form of communication. She then requested a payment. We gave it. She said, “Goodbye,” and left. We then discovered that she owed us 100 rubles, which she did not return.

The apartment has four rooms with wooden floors. A living space with an attached kitchen, a balcony, and a bathroom. WiFi was available. The living room contained a cupboard, an ironing pad, two pairs of moccasins, a large bed, and a dining table with three chairs. The modular kitchen had cutlery cabinets, four plates, vodka glasses, a small chimney, a portable water heater, a microwave oven, and a bigger integrated oven. The bathroom had a Western-style toilet but no faucet, which startled me. This was really inconvenient for me) and a Jacuzzi with a showerhead. The bathroom and balcony have ceramic tile floors. The outer view featured flats and a building for the corporation ‘SOGAZ’. The electrical sockets were European, therefore my charger would not fit. I needed to recharge, so I headed to the jacuzzi.

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Mom then informed us we needed to go to the supermarket for more supplies. Since my mind was clear, we went to EUROSPAR, which was around 350 metres from our flat. That was cool. I needed a charger that worked with European outlets. I utilized Yandex Maps to locate this because my phone’s battery was about to die. Mum’s battery was at barely 15%. So I told Mum, “We need to explore the neighbourhood.” It was around 19:30 by then. She agreed to it. We went to Komsomolskaya Square, the busy city center. It was remarkable in that it possessed a metro station, three railway stations (Leningradsky Vokzal, Yaroslavlsky Vokzal, and Kazansky Vokzal), and a suburban train station on the D2 line. Near the square was a ‘Univermag’. That was along major roadways crisscrossed by tram lines. Crossing this road was impossible, so we had to take the metro.

They were spic and span. The subways also included shops. One of them provided electrical components. Fortunately for us, we bought the charger for 200 rubles and went to the ‘Univermag’, which mostly consisted of ‘Odezhda’ (clothing) and a food court. Not our style today. We turned around and walked back to the EUROSPAR store. Aside from the usual commodities, the shop had an in-house culinary area where chefs cooked and served meals at the counter. Both vegetarian and non-vegetarian options were available. There were plenty of salads, including beetroot salad, Caesar salad, cabbage salad, chicken salad, cream, tomato slices, boiled eggs, and green leafy vegetables. Soups were available, however they were primarily non-vegetarian. Pizza, bread, and meat delicacies (ranging from beef to hog) were easily available. Even sushi and woks!

This was quite beneficial since we chose the apartment option to prepare our own meals. We later learnt that this is how most Russians eat. Pack some of them, charge them, reheat them in the supermarket’s microwave oven, and eat them. Tables and chairs for this purpose were available. The employees were not Russians, but rather from CIS countries. But no one there spoke English. Some vegetables and fruits were missing at these supermarkets, so the supper we prepared in the kitchen was really tasteless. Our vegetarian rice was sticky. I couldn’t get curd there; the closest thing I had was sour cream (Smetana). While we were shopping, I suddenly remembered several terminology from the book’s grocery chapter. So, I recognized a few of the products. Perets, for pepper; sakar, for sugar; and ribu, for fish. As you will see in the next sections, we rarely made dinner on our own. We had to shop at supermarkets, reheat it, and eat it. This is our daily eating routine.

At 23:40, I retired for the night. Our dinner concluded at 23:00. We were quite sleepy. We had no idea how the next two weeks in Russia would play out. Will it be enjoyable or stressful? We left them to their fate. I mistakenly imagined that we would be able to make this vacation enjoyable and memorable. That’s why we went to Russia.

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