Domodedovo Airport, Moscow, The Russian Federation— I got off my seat and dragged my weary body outside of the plane where I sat for almost five hours of peaceful flight from Dubai. I paced myself and walked straight to the long tube that led to the long queues that led to the immigration officers that will stamp my PILIPINAS passport that will give me access to enter this bolshoi nation, sometimes I fondly call this, Mother Russia.
Moscow that evening had a welcoming temperature of -3 centigrade and I thought that it was not so bad coming from a +27 centigrade back home in Manila. As I stood there acclimatizing myself with the weather, I realized that the temperature inside the airport was actually rather toasty, as always. I stared at the people's expressionless, perfectly contoured faces and I tried to mentally rehearse what to do next when my turn comes. First, I will remove my eyeglasses; second, I will approach the immigration officer forward and then give her a polite but expressionless dobre dien (good evening) to establish an impression that it was not my first time in Russia. I've been through this many times over the course of almost five years but I have not gotten used to this so-called expressionless Russian courtesy and hospitality. If you're a first-timer from sunny Southeast Asia, you'll be surprised that they won't smile back at you at all. But you have to take it with a teaspoonful of sugar. In their heart, they are sincere and kind once they warm up to you. I had to rehearse this thought in my mind over and over until it sank in. Because to be honest, the flat affect still terrifies me even if I always traveled with proper documentation. I should be fine.
As I stood there, I knew so well that getting through that glass partition was at the mercy of the prekrasnyy immigration officer waiting for me to hand in my passport. She examined it like a scientist observing a specimen under her magnifying glass. She mumbled something. My heart beat raced. What could go wrong? "Sorrry, nyet (no) Paruskiy, only English, pajalsta (please)?" She immediately reframed her words, "is this your first time here?" "No madam. I've been here many times already." I was tempted to add, 'we have an apartment here,' but I was quick to hold back another English word because one word could lead to more questioning. "Did you come here to work?" "Nyet, madam. I'm here for a vacation. My husband works here. If you want I can show you my old passport. Here, I have it with me. And I also have my return-ticket if you want to see it." I thought I tried to smile ear-to-ear at that point.
I was too familiar with this kind of feeling. I will be asked a few more questions to verify the legality of my trip here. Definitely. The immigration officer was just doing her job. Maybe for my nose, my eyes, the color of my skin. I'm sure, most, if not all Filipino women go through the same feat with immigration in Europe. I have to stay relaxed and composed. She leafed through the pages of my old passport; she counted every single page forward, backward, repeat, perhaps looking for a ripped page; she mumbled yet again as she paused on one page, "ah, US tourist visa". That moment I wanted to say, "yes ma'am, never been used since I got it six years ago", but I kept it to myself. She never asked why I have it. She half-smiled and that look on her face gave me a sigh of relief. She then handed me my passport and proceeded with furnishing me with a migration card—a very important puny little slip of paper that I have to guard with my life if I don't want to get in trouble with the authorities during my stay here. Like my passport, I have to bring it with me anywhere I go and return it to the immigration officer upon my departure. I'm thankful that it is small enough to be inserted in my passport jacket.
The moment the immigration officer pushed the button to let me pass through the automatic swinging glass door, all of my fears dissipated. I can never get used to this. This is Moscow, the city I love next to Manila, but I have issues with the people's expressionless faces. As the escalator gradually descended to the arrival lobby, I started looking for a man with a full-head, jet black colored hair, wearing a collared polo shirt, and a pair of washed blue denim jeans. It wasn't hard for me to do that. I immediately saw my husband who's craning his neck looking for his 5-foot-tall wife in the sea of towering, white people. Our gaze met. What transpired earlier at the immigration was automatically thrown over to my short-term memory. Aaaaah, we're back in each other's arms again. We kissed, naturally, just like in the movies. Then he gave me a bunch of sweet-smelling, dark, velvety red roses which he purposely hid on his black backpack.And we lived happily ever after.
The moment the immigration officer pushed the button to let me pass through the automatic swinging glass door, all of my fears dissipated. I can never get used to this. This is Moscow, the city I love next to Manila, but I have issues with the people's expressionless faces. As the escalator gradually descended to the arrival lobby, I started looking for a man with a full-head, jet black colored hair, wearing a collared polo shirt, and a pair of washed blue denim jeans. It wasn't hard for me to do that. I immediately saw my husband who's craning his neck looking for his 5-foot-tall wife in the sea of towering, white people. Our gaze met. What transpired earlier at the immigration was automatically thrown over to my short-term memory. Aaaaah, we're back in each other's arms again. We kissed, naturally, just like in the movies. Then he gave me a bunch of sweet-smelling, dark, velvety red roses which he purposely hid on his black backpack.
In a perfect world, my travel narrative would have been the same for the month of March or April or May. These months are the best season to travel because the snow has thawed, the ducks with their teal-colored wings waddled into the pond and zippered on the chilly water; the overcast skies moved out as upstaged by the cerulian blue skies; flowers are in bloom with their majestic colors; it's springtime. But real-life situations do occur regardless of the season. This COVID-19 pandemic. Lockdowns were enforced. People are on quarantine. It's not business as usual. My sweet reunion with my husband was put on hold. My little happiness bubble disappeared into thin air. Reality kicked in. I don't think that traveling will be the same even if lockdowns all over the world were lifted. It will take awhile before the dusts settle and until then, I would have to take it one day at a time.