Having a layover in Moscow doesn't really count as being in Moscow, but it still feels Russian. Even on the plane, everything was Russian - signs, announcements, attendants. Everything seemed to be bright orange too - the attendants' uniforms and high heels, the plane seats, the sun shining on the water, the raw fish in the salad. My flight attendant's name was Evginya and she had dark swooping bangs.
The plane was big - 10 seats across. I was in the fortieth row, smack in the middle. I listened to Andre Rieu on the violin and dozed. The sun shone almost the whole night.
I've been camping out in the airport for the last few hours:
The airport has multiple TGIF's. The waiters and waitresses are all dressed up in Uncle-Sam style uniforms of red-white-and-blue stripes. This is the Russian depiction of American?
Lounge. There's another across from this one entitled "Jazz business class lounge."
Winsome chocolate wrapper:
A few matryoshka dolls:
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