Warning: This post is long, yet important. I had to write it down for my family's records. So, congratulations to you if you make it all the way through!
August 31, 2011
When we arrived at Domodedovo airport in Moscow, things felt surreal and almost like a dream (or nightmare). I was so tired from my lack of sleep the night before and I felt numb with anxiety. All I could do was just go through the motions and move forward. There was a lot to get done that day.
Just before we had landed, a man who was sitting across the aisle from me was visiting with a flight attendant. The flight attendant was asking him about his trip to Moscow. It was purely for business. The man did not hesitate to say that he did not like Moscow and he would never live here -- "it was a dirty city". I thought, "Shut up, you!" It was so easy for him to pass judgment; he didn't have to live here for the next three years without much hope that he could return and visit family in between. I tried to push what he'd said out of my mind, determined not to let his tarnishing words affect me. I would make my own opinions, thank you very much!
The airport was crowded and everything seemed foreign and strange. I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but neither Jon nor I speak Russian. We maybe knew two or so words before he was offered the job. He would be teaching in English, so that's what made that aspect doable. But, even after the little studying we did over the summer, we were still far from being able to talk or understand anything in Russian. I half wondered how we'd even make it out of the airport.
Instead of both Jon and me trying to wrangle the children while gathering our baggage, Jon had me sit down with our crew while he grabbed the luggage. I sat down on a dingy bench. Nothing was warm or welcoming about that airport. I held William in my arms and the children played close around me, slightly barricaded with all of our carry-on luggage.
Jon had completely disappeared, but I could see up ahead that they had brought the check-on luggage out and slapped it on the floor. Our stroller was sitting there, so I quickly walked over and grabbed it. I set it up and buckled William inside. Right after that, Bruce crawled into my lap, replacing William. This is proof how tired and wound up I was, because about 5 minutes or so later, I looked at Kate and James playing and I completely panicked, realizing I couldn't see Bruce anywhere. I wondered how long it had been since I'd last seen Bruce as my eyes scanned around the airport. Frantically, I asked Kate and James, "Where's Bruce!"
"Mommy, he's sitting on your lap."
Oh, right. William was in the stroller; Bruce was in my lap. Whoops! Good thing that nobody around me could understand what an idiot I'd just made of myself. Ha ha!
Jon was away for a long time, though he did not have an easy task. Although Jon's job had offered to pay for a certain amount of weight for us to ship our belongings, we had heard terrible things about shipments getting stuck in customs and then months later you'd have to pay duties on them, sometimes adding up to more that your stuff was worth. After discovering this, we had contacted our airline, found out how much luggage we were allowed to bring with us, and consolidated all of our needs and wants into that amount. We had 15 large items in either suitcases or boxes and 8 carry-on bags. That may
seem like a lot, but the majority of it was clothing (summer and winter, and then some clothing for the children to grow into). We had to leave A LOT behind!
Jon had found a large luggage cart and took it to the luggage return area. Unfortunately, after he'd stacked it already with the majority of our luggage, a crotchety Russian woman came marching over and yelling at him in Russian. It was apparent that she did not like him using the large luggage cart, so after removing our stuff, she took it away with her. Our only option after that was the small, common luggage carts and in order to get all of our stuff gathered together on them, we had to use five!
The math is not hard to do (5 over-stacked luggage carts, two adults), but the solution was much, much more difficult. How would we get all of our stuff, including the check-on and carry-on baggage, through customs along with four small children? Well, we did the only thing we could do, we enlisted the children. We threw whatever had straps over our backs and haphazardly stacked the rest of our check-on and carry-on luggage on top of the already overfilled, rickety luggage carts. Jon and I took two carts each (pushed one several steps then pushed the next one several steps), Kate took one cart, and James pushed William in the stroller, and Bruce lay on the ground, crying. What a circus!
After we made it through customs, we met up with one of Jon's coworkers. He had brought his assistant with him and they helped us the rest of the way through the airport. They suggested that if any of us needed to use the restroom that we should do it before we left the airport. After what I'd already seen of that airport, I had NO interest in entering one of their bathrooms, but we were warned that the traffic would probably be really bad and it would be a long time before we made it to our apartment. I sighed and gave in and Kate and I headed to the women's restroom.
Everything we brought with us to Moscow:
2 adults
4 children
6 boxes
9 suitcases
8 carry-ons
2 booster seats
1 infant seat
1 stroller
Again, everything seemed foreign inside the rest room. The doors locked differently, the toilet was shaped differently and the toilet paper? Well...it might as well have been bark peeled off from a tree outside. It was brown and rough and I feel like I remember that some of the "wood pulp" was not ground quite as fine as the rest making it obvious that it was made out of wood.
We had warned Jon's coworker about how much luggage we had, but unfortunately, he was optimistic that it would all fit in only two cars. Compact cars, no less. After shoving things tightly here and there, losing all rear-view vision and storing smaller bags under the children's feet, we finally got everything inside. It was tight! Towards the end of our shoving, however, it looked doubtful that it would all fit. So, the sweet assistant, who was Russian, suggested that I just hold William for our drive. The suggestion took me completely off guard, at first. That would NEVER be an option in the United States! But, in Russia, car seats are actually optional and are even considered more of a luxury item. Thankfully, Jon's coworker answered for me, saying 'no', he was sure I wouldn't feel comfortable with that. Thank you! I had heard horror stories of the traffic and terrible driving in Moscow and I was not interested in having my baby fly out of my arms and die in the event of an accident, especially on our first day in Moscow!
Jon's coworker took the train and metro to our apartment, while Jon and Kate drove in a cab, and I rode in the assistant's car with the boys. She and I made small talk. She spoke English well, but I was sure exhausted and struggled to stay awake. The drive was a long one, with heavy traffic, and I felt overstimulated and weirded-out by all the signs along the freeway that were in Russian. Nothing was in English. We were definitely not in America anymore! I wondered if I would ever, EVER be able to read or understand any of it.
During our drive, William began crying. Although he is an incredibly patient baby, he was long over-due for being fed, but we were stuck in the car. What could I do? So, I just let him cry, sometimes talking gently to him in hopes that he'd calm down. The assistant suggested several times that I remove him from the car seat and feed him, but he was in the back seat and I was in the front, passenger seat. I just could do it! United States car seat laws were too firmly instilled in me. It just wasn't safe!
After we pulled off the freeway and began entering into residential areas, I scouted the apartment buildings. When the assistant told me we were getting close, I would count the floors on the buildings ahead of us. Our apartment would be in the mid-teens. Many of the building were not pretty and some looked downright scary. I would think, "Man, I'm glad THAT'S not our apartment building." Most of the buildings were not as tall as ours would be. However, I finally spotted a building that was tall enough and had enough floors. The assistant turned onto the sidewalk and drove along it for a short time and then she turned into rather tight parking lot. I sized-up the building that was before me, that would probably be our home for the next three years, or so, and I bitterly thought, "Ugh! Of course, this would be the place we would live." It wasn't as dirty and shabby as some of the buildings I had seen, but it still reflected a feeling of being tired and slightly run down.
The assistant parked and got out of her car. "Should I follow her?" I wondered. I was tired, hungry and definitely car sick and I didn't want to move, but she called to me, and so I climbed out of the car. The boys had all fallen asleep, so I gently nudged them awake, grabbed a few things out of the car that I could and grabbed the infant seat with William inside.
We met up with another lady from Jon's work who would help us sort through what we needed to with our new apartment and landlord. I followed the assistant and new lady to a metal door -- the entrance to our part of the building. They spoke to someone sitting in a tiny office at the entrance (our door person). We walked up a short flight of stairs and then faced two elevators. One set of doors opened up to a tiny elevator. We had to split up between the two elevators. I entered one with William. The elevator was dark and felt dingy. I wouldn't touch anything. It moved slowly up the floors. Sometimes I get motion-sick and don't do well in elevators and that was one of those times. After our rickety ride up the elevator, I stepped onto our floor, but the ground felt like it was still moving. I felt sick and wished that I could lie down, but I couldn't.
It's a sign of respect to remove your shoes when you enter a Russian's home. I was still suffering pretty badly from my plantar fasciitis (sore feet), and although I really wanted to keep my shoes on, I worried it would be rude if I did (even if it was to be our apartment soon). So, I removed my shoes and regretted it.
I was given a tour of the apartment. I honestly don't remember what my first impression of it was, except that it felt bigger than we thought it would be from the pictures we'd seen. I do remember that as I walked through, it felt odd that this would be our home. It certainly didn't feel like home at that point.
The children and I settled in the living room with the landlord's mother. She only spoke Russian, so we didn't visit together much. She seemed to rave about the children, though. There were people all over inside the apartment and I didn't understand at first who they could all be and what they were all doing there. There was quite a bit of paperwork to sign and things to get done, so Jon was busy doing that. He had to leave to the bank to get our shockingly large first, last, and current months rent payment exchanged to rubles.
Thankfully, the children dove into their very own carry-on bags and played with all the toys and activities that we didn't get to on the plane. Poor William was about ready to implode, but I didn't feel comfortable whipping "things" out right in front of that busy apartment full of people, despite the fact that I would use a nursing cover. So, I asked Jon's coworker, who was there, if there was somewhere I could go nurse and he directed me into the master bedroom. The only place to sit down was the bed. I sat right on the side of the bed while I nursed William and looked around my new bedroom. The bedroom was decorated in a way that I would have never done in a million years. The mattress I sat on felt like the thin cheap kind you buy for children's bunk beds, the wall paper was bronze-ish with big, busy flowers, and the bedroom set was hard plastic and BLACK. Whatever happened to the simple beauty of natural wood? I thought, "No, this certainly can't be my bedroom. I just can't imagine staying in this place for an extended period of time."
While I waited for Jon, I asked his co-worker all sorts of questions: Where certain things were in the apartment, like a broom and vacuum. Was the tap water was drinkable? Does Russia sell disposable diapers? Etc.
After what seemed like forever, the papers were signed, the rent was paid and many of the people started to leave. The landlord, his brother, his mother, the house cleaner (she handed us her phone number before she left), the assistant (who was anxious to finally get back home to her family), and the other lady from Jon's work who had helped find the apartment.
I was tired and hungry and looking forward to just being alone with Jon and the kids, but there was no food in the kitchen or necessary plates, bowls and utensils, cookware or bakeware. Except for the appliances, the kitchen was empty. We were not expecting that and, of course, had not packed any kitchen items. And, unfortunately, we were in Russia now and we couldn't just call for a pizza delivery. So, Jon's coworker took Jon out to a shopping center at the nearest metro station, while I sat alone with my children in our strange new place.
Sometime later, Jon and his coworker came back with bags of food, plasticware, and a few other essentials.
Soon, Jon's coworker left to his family (we were so grateful for his help and time), but although I was craving the thought of being alone with just my family, once we really were all alone, we suddenly felt abandoned and crippled in this new, huge city and country. What were we doing here?
We ate a simple meal of bread, fruit and cheese for dinner, and then we split open several boxes and opened suitcases to find pillows and blankets for the beds. Jon and I helped the children get ready and sent them all to bed. Kate and Bruce shared a double bed in the center room, and James camped out on a couch in the laundry room.
The children fell asleep fairly quickly. With everything suddenly quiet in the apartment, Jon and I sat on the sofa. Unfamiliar sounds traveled up to our apartment from below and came through our open window in the front room: People talking, car alarms going off, eerie squeals from somewhere in the distance. Jon and I held hands, our eyes wide, and could only think one thing: "Oh, crap! What have we done?"
Yes, Jon and I got to bed that night, too. The bed was a king sized bed and, of course, we'd only brought queen sized sheets, so we just laid a flat sheet over the top of the mattress. William did not have a crib, so he slept in between us in bed. The city lights outside made the room too bright, but shutting the blackout curtains made it WAY too dark. There was no comforting glow of a digital clock, and all night long I kept waking up, uncomfortable on that unfamiliar, hard bed, and always wondering but never knowing what time it was or how long I'd slept since the last time I woke up. When William woke up, his cries echoed off the concrete walls and through the apartment and I worried about the other children waking up.
I guess I'm not sure how to conclude this post. I think back on that day and a flood of all the feelings and emotions still wash over me: fear, uncertainty, exhaustion, hunger, homesickness, discomfort, an all new level of mother-bear protection for my children, support for Jon, faith, hope and definitely prayer...
Nobody else but our Heavenly Father could help us through this new challenge. This particular one was a BIG one for Jon and me! I admit, I couldn't help but think sometimes, "Okay, we came to Russia. Now, let's go back. I want to go home." There are still many things that are a challenge for us right now, but especially those first few days, we could only take things one day or even one hour at time. I would, and sometimes still, reassure myself, "Okay, we made it through one day. I really don't know about three years, but I know I can make it, at least, through another day."