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  2. The Diary (22 June 1994 - 13 July 1994)
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22 June 1994

A sketch from my diary of my plane trip.

This is what I saw for most of my plane trip. My first inter-continental flight was utterly, infinitely uncomfortable. Oh, it wasn't that bad, compared to, say, being torn limb from limb by a pack of wild wolves, and except for the food, the cramped space, the boredom, and sitting on my numb hindquarters for almost ten hours straight with only one trip to a smelly bathroom, I had a delightful time. Oh, and did I mention the fact that I only got about four hours of sleep?1

After the transfer in Frankfurt, I had a much better time. I got a window seat, and after I got tired of looking at clouds and little patchwork fields I was able to settle in comfortably and catch up on sleep.

The transition was weird. When I got to the different airports, I didn't quite realize that I was in a totally different country, continent, hemisphere! I started tripping out every time I thought about it.

The whole trip went amazingly smoothly. Everyone told me where I was supposed to go, or there were signs. I didn't get lost, or lose anything and nobody bothered me.

In Frankfurt, the sky was grey and the ground was brown and had lots of houses that looked like they came from Monopoly, but they were white with red roofs. Warsaw was greyer, greener, and had buildings that were grey and boxy. St Petersburg was the greenest of all, and it was sprinkling.

To me the Russian language sounds like English being played in reverse at high speed. This is no offense to the Russian language, which makes perfect sense to the millions of people who speak it. But, as I am not one of those millions, it sounds like English being played in reverse at high speed.

1 International flights haven't grown any more bearable-- except that I always make sure to get an aisle seat now. It really can't be good for your kidneys to hold it for that long.

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